


I Left A Party For You

by thesweetestcon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Body Shots, Bottom Dean Winchester, College, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean has latent biphobia, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Movie nights n road trips, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Top Castiel (Supernatural), almost a slow burn if you squint, and an inability to understand his own attraction, and wild mental gymnastics to convince himself that he's not in love, but not in an irresponsible way so don't worry, lots of coffee drinking too, lots of drinking bc come on it's college, not angsty but feels angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetestcon/pseuds/thesweetestcon
Summary: Dean's in his senior year of college and spiraling out about having quit the soccer team and needing to reinvent his social life. Castiel is newly friends with Gabriel and Jo, and when they introduce him to Dean, it begins a months-long adventure of movie nights, leaving parties early, shared dinners, shared beds, and maybe even a little love story.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	1. Campus

**Author's Note:**

> Three years ago, I fell in love with my girlfriend during the fall semester of our senior year of college. Three months ago, she began a latent Supernatural phase that reawakened my own Supernatural phase from almost a decade prior. This fan fiction is extreeeeeemely loosely based on our own story and is her surprise Valentine's Day gift. 
> 
> If you're her - Happy Valentine's Day! I love you!
> 
> If you're not - I'm tickled that you're reading this! Enjoy!

Chapter 1:

It’s hotter than hell in the tiny bike shop, and Dean would know – he’s been. Well, maybe not to real hell, but certainly to his uncle Bobby’s mechanic shop with no air conditioning on a muggy Kansas day, and that’s close enough. The shack he is in now lacks some of the aromas of Bobby’s old chop shop, namely those of and related to the digestive systems of its staff, but he can still feel the sweat dripping slowly into his socks from the backs of his knees as he squats to check out his newest project. 

“You said the chains came off while you were riding it?” he asks the customer, a gangly girl with glasses who seems like she couldn’t have identified the chains if they bit her on the face. 

“Uh, yeah,” she responds, sliding her glasses back up her nose, where the collected sweat immediately reverses her efforts. “I checked it out from the gym because we were trying to ride up to Baldy, but I didn’t even make it off campus.”

Dean whistles. Riding to Mount Baldy is an uphill journey, and even though the sun has only been up for a couple of hours, the temperature is already well on its way to surpassing a hundred degrees. “Well,” he says, “this should be an easy fix. If you sign this form, you can actually leave it here with us and we’ll return it to the gym when we’re done.”

“Thanks,” the girl says, looking relieved. “I appreciate it.” Dean slides the forms he needs signed across the window of the bike shop and hands her a pen from the jar that Ellen keeps beneath the desk. The girl quickly scribbles her name and, with a tight smile and a wave, leaves the bike shop behind.

Heaving a sigh, Dean reaches down to where he’s stuffed his backpack in the corner of the shop and pulls out his water bottle. It’s the fancy kind that keeps water cold for hours and hours, a gift from his baby brother Sam when he got into Claremont McKenna. It has seen better days and by now bears the dings and scratches of three years of bouncing around in various sports bags, backpacks, and the trunk of Dean’s 1967 Chevy Impala. 

After a few glugs of the icy cold water, Dean replaces the cap on the bottle and tosses it back towards his backpack. He leans over the window of the bike shop and gazes around at his surroundings, taking in the desert landscape and distant mountains of Claremont, California. It is still as sleepy and beautiful as it had been the first day that he set foot on campus, when Coach Alastair had him come visit as part of the recruitment process. 

Dean still feels a twinge in his heart and his left knee whenever he thinks about soccer. He spent the summer recovering from his surgery and readjusting to the thought of a life in which his whole identity wasn’t practice and games. He’s glad that his buds from the team are still keeping him in the loop and inviting him to all the team events. This morning they even texted him about joining their pregame for 6:01, the kickoff party of the year that happens when the required dry syllabus week ends at 6:00 PM on Saturday night, but he still hasn’t decided if he’s going to go. It’s over a week away, so he has some time.

“Hey Winchester,” calls a familiar voice rounding the corner to the bike shed. Craning his neck, Dean catches sight of Jo Harvelle, his favorite of the girls who intern with the athletic trainer. Like him, Jo used to be a soccer player, but after one too many concussions in her freshman year she was forced to retire after just one season. Instead of giving up on it completely, she started working towards a kinesiology degree and interning with the trainer during her downtime. 

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Dean says, smiling. He reaches out a fist and she bumps it. “How was your summer, Harvelle?”

“Boring,” she says. “Worked for my mom and got yelled at for not being as good as you.”

“Well, I am uniquely talented. It’s these magic hands that the ladies just can’t stop talking about.”

“Oh yeah? Which ladies? Last I heard, you were barely holding on to a halfway hookup situation with Lisa Braeden, and that was almost a year ago.”

“Jo, you wound me. Lisa and I were an entire hookup situation.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, dork. All I’m saying is, you could stand to encounter the feminine touch again.”

Dean makes a kissy face at her. “You offering, Harvelle?”

“Gross. Get off or I’ll sic my mom on you.”

Just then, Ellen herself rounds the corner. It’s Dean’s first sighting of his boss since being back on campus – she was out checking mail and getting the campus gossip from her friends in the mailroom when he opened this morning. “Good morning, Dean,” she says in her slight Kansas twang, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. “We’re glad to have you back, and even gladder you were willing to give up your last week of summer for freshman orientation. Jo, you giving an enthusiastic and grateful welcome to my favorite employee who is the only reason you aren’t alone this week?”

Jo rolls her eyes and makes a throat slicing motion to Dean behind Ellen’s back. “Yep,” Dean says cheerfully. “Jo was actually just telling me about how she was so excited to have the opportunity to learn about bike repair this summer, and now that I’m back I can teach her even more!”

Ellen, now busy doing an inventory of the parts that were delivered the day before, looks over her shoulder at him, unimpressed. “I didn’t say I missed having a kiss-ass in the shop, Dean. Just someone who knows a wrench from his left hand.”

Jo groans. “I’m sorry I tried to unscrew all the bolts with my hands. In my defense, I thought I could do it and I know I’m the strongest bike shop employee.”  
Dean wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ll arm wrestle you for that title.”

Ellen leaves them there, with their eyes locked across the bike shop window and elbows rooted to the narrow plank next to the cash register. They’re at attempt number five to arm wrestle, continuing to tie and then break the ties, when they are suddenly interrupted.

“Um, hello?” the voice asks, surprisingly deep for a college student. Jo turns around. 

“Oh my gosh, Castiel!” she squeals, throwing her (admittedly sweaty, Dean would know) arms around the boy who has just arrived at the bike shop.

On second thought, no, God, no, this is not a boy but a man. Dean takes in the ruffled dark hair and piercing blue eyes atop a lanky, muscular runner’s frame. The man is wearing khaki-colored hiking shorts and a t-shirt that reads, “GISHWHES! Join The Hunt!” Somehow, it still doesn’t take away from his quietly powerful energy. 

“Can I… help you?” Dean asks, clearing his throat. Why is he so nervous? He’s not nervous. He just hasn’t been working at the bike shop very long. Oh God. Where does he usually put his hands when he talks to a customer? Next to the cash register? Does that seem possessive of the register? Oh no. He settles for sticking them both in his pockets. 

“Dean, this is Castiel,” Jo gushes. “He’s the one who gave that phenomenal presentation in my apocalyptic literature class last year. Remember? The whole thing about the doomsday preppers and their implications for international relations?”

“Hello,” Cas nods to Dean. “I was wondering if you could help me with my bike. Jo told me last spring that there was a bike shop on campus, but I didn’t have a chance to visit before the end of the semester. I’ve been riding my brother’s bike all summer, but I really need mine back so I can lead the freshman orientation bike tours.”

“Sure thing,” Dean says, his voice coming out higher than he intends. “I mean, uh, sure, yeah, I can take a look,” he adjusts, this time managing to make the words sound gruff.

As Castiel wheels the offending vehicle into the shop, Dean tries his very hardest to keep his eyes trained on the wheels and not the seat. Of the bike. Obviously. It’s very nice – the bike – fairly run of the mill for this wealthy student body, but certainly more expensive than the school bikes. Cas describes the problem to Dean, who half-listens as he begins examining the bike himself.

“It looks like one of your bolts failed,” he tells Cas. “That’s a pretty easy fix. I may just need a day or so since there are some other customers ahead of you.” Cas looks relieved.

“Thank you,” he says. “That’s great to hear.”

“Of course,” Dean says. “Why don’t you come around to the window and I can have you sign the forms and officially check your bike in.” He opens the filing drawer in the desk and pulls out a standard check-in form, then scribbles “Cas” at the top in blue ink. He hands paper and pen to Cas who frowns and writes “tiel” next to Dean’s scribble before turning to the rest of the form. Oh, okay. Got it.

“Sorry about that, just my instinct to use shorthand. I love a nickname,” Dean jokes, trying to lighten Castiel’s somber expression. Jo looks between them, as unsure as Dean of what is happening. She waits a beat, but nothing changes. 

“Uhhh, Castiel,” she says, turning to him and trying to disrupt the awkward silence, “Do you want to go get brunch with me? Pitzer dining hall is open for another hour or so and I know you like their omelettes. Plus, that’ll give Dean some time to get started on your bike.”

Castiel nods and hands the pen and paper back over to Dean. “That sounds great, Joanna,” he says. Joanna? Is this guy some kind of weird full-name fundamentalist? “I’m ready now if you are.” 

Jo nods and throws a quick middle finger over her shoulder to Dean. “Catch ya on the flipside, weirdo!” she calls as she trudges off towards Styrofoam scrambled eggs and stale blueberry scones. Dean, for some reason, feels extremely jealous.


	2. party favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every day this week, my sweet and beautiful girlfriend has asked with giant eyes whether her favorite fan fiction has updated. This was great for my gigantic ego. Here you go, honey! 3-4 coming soon.

The first couple of weeks back on campus pass in a blur of high temperatures, short shorts, and slowly increasing anxiety about the semester ahead. Though it has only been a few days and he hasn’t even been to class yet, Dean is beginning to regret the courses that he picked for his senior fall semester. Surprisingly, it isn’t even his thesis that’s stressing him out, despite being a last minute Psych major (switching from his initial Econ declaration back when he was a freshman). No, mostly he’s worried about how to fill his time this year without soccer.

His advisor, a stern but lovable professor named Jody Mills with a surprisingly butch haircut and relaxed attitude for the generally conservative Claremont McKenna College, pushed him to “take it easy” in his class picks for this fall. “You don’t need to prove yourself, Dean,” she had said last spring, staring him down while he fidgeted with the laptop on his lap. “Punish yourself either. Sometimes you can just enjoy things.”

Reflecting on that now, he opens up the student portal to check his class requests for the millionth time this morning, even though it’s barely 10:00 AM and the Pitzer dining hall’s Saturday brunch is looking like a ghost town while the rest of the school sleeps in. He absentmindedly scoops a lukewarm bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth as he scrolls through the class requests he has submitted. He’s trying hard to get into Ghostly Machines, rumored to be the best – or at least strangest – humanities GE on campus. Jo somehow managed to get in last spring and told Dean that her final was a twenty-page paper on summoning the energy of dead spirits. Dean is stoked.

His phone rings, taking him out of his reverie. He swipes it open immediately, already smiling. “Sammy!” he says. “What’s up! How’s my little tiny baby brother handling his first semester of college?”

Sam laughs. “Tiny?”

“Yes, so small. Just an infant. Barely big enough to walk.”

“Sure, Dean. Whatever you say.”

“What I say is, I miss you, man! Stanford got you so busy that you can’t call?” Sam’s semester had started a week before Dean left Kansas to come back to Claremont, which had also been part of the motivation for his volunteering to work freshman orientation at the bike shop. Without Sam around, there really wasn’t much to do in an already boring hometown.

“I mean, it’s definitely been busy,” Sam said. “There’s a ton of orientation stuff, and then I’m also starting the actual content of all my classes and trying to keep up now that syllabus week is over. Plus, I met some cool guys down my hall and we’ve been hanging out a bunch.”

“Ah, men. The root of love and romance, as they say. Just kidding, nobody says that. Where are the _women_ , Sammy?”

Dean can feel his brother rolling his eyes as he responds. “There are plenty of cute, interesting, smart, fun girls here, Dean. That’s why you’re never allowed to visit. I want to actually be friends with them.”

“My own brother? My own blood? Betraying me like this? You wound me, Sam.”

“As long as you’re not irreparably damaging the psyches of my female friends, I’m fine with a little bit of wounding.”

Sam stays on the phone with Dean for long enough that the dining hall starts to fill up with students from across the colleges, growing noisy and bustling. He tells Dean about his classes, his roommate Brady, the parties he’s going to, and the clubs he wants to join. It makes Dean ache a little bit, thinking about how Sam has the whole world in front of him. Right now he’s saying that he wants to be pre-med and become an oncologist to help families like theirs, and Dean knows that if he decides he wants to do that, he absolutely will.

He absently wonders what it’s like to be in Sam’s shoes, with no family pressures and no expectations laid upon him. Sam got an academic full-ride to Stanford, so all he has to do is keep up his grades over the next four years. No early morning practices, no deathly fear of injuries, no hazing rituals and required social group to lock into from day one. As much as he loved soccer, it had turned into a chore by the end. A chore that he still, somehow, misses so much that it feels like a physical gaping hole inside him.

Dean hangs up with Sam, reminding him once again of the value of a good lay and making him promise to call again soon. As he does so, he notices that he has four new texts waiting.

_Today, 10:34:_

_Dean-o! How’s it hanging? Long and low, I hope?_

_Today, 10:47:_

_Deanie baby, you at brunch? PZ? Can I join you?_

_Today, 10:52:_

_D-dog, I’m coming in hot to pitzer brunch and I need you to know now that I am indeed wildly hungover. But I miss you, baby. You never call, you never text_

_Today, 11:04:_

_I see you, princess! Gotta get my eggies and coffee and then I’ll be pinching those sweet cheeks!_

There is only one person on earth who has the indecency to text like this, and his grin is easily identifiable across the dining hall as he carries a plate piled with pastries to where Dean is sitting in the back corner.

“What happened to the eggs?” Dean asks, aghast, as he surveys what looks like the entire contents of the pastry buffet on a single plate.

Gabriel shrugs. “They didn’t fit. Plus, I got distracted talking to Raphael as he was refilling the pastry bar. My man! Well, my other man. You’re my number one man, even if you won’t let me put my hands on your balls anymore.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Bad goalie pun. I know you can do better.”

“I really can’t, Dean-o. I really can’t.”

“Mind telling me what your ugly mug is doing ruining my breakfast view?” Dean asks, clapping Gabriel on his shoulder and fully stealing his mug of coffee. He sips it, chokes on what tastes like an entire bottle of the salted caramel sweetener that the dining hall stocks, and slams it back down in front of Gabe.

Gabe leans back, grinning. “6:01.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to. It’s fate.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Deeeean,” Gabe argues. “Just because you got your heart broke by Lady Soccer and also a million other women doesn’t mean you stop trying!”

“Okay Hallmark. Still not going.”

Dean has been avoiding this conversation for almost two weeks now, knowing that Gabe was back on campus and wanted him to start partying with the team again. Though Gabe remains one of his best friends, he still just doesn’t feel great about going to parties with a group of people who hadn’t done much to support him through his injury and with whom he has almost nothing in common now. Just because he misses the game doesn’t mean he needs the people.

“What if I told you that it’s not just going to be soccer at this one? I’m inviting women’s rugby and as always, guests are welcome.”

That did actually change things. Women’s rugby means Meg, Jo’s best friend, and Anna, Jo’s girlfriend, which means Jo. All three are much more enjoyable to hang out with than almost anyone on the team. Present company excluded, though Dean will never admit that out loud.

Dean lets out a big breath. “I’ll swing through,” he says. “No guarantees.”

Gabe’s grin takes up his entire face. “Alright, Dean Winchester! That’s my guy! Now, would you be a dear and fetch me a sugar packet for my coffee? It’s a little bit too bitter.”


	3. Nirvana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....and, because I actually already let her read Ch 2, here's Ch 3 also. 2 in 1! Like the best shampoos!

The rest of the day passes in the typical routine of a Saturday afternoon with few responsibilities. Dean swings by the mailroom to pick up his check, runs to Target to wander the aisles, stops by Vons for some alcohol and mixers, and ends up back in his dorm room staring at the empty walls. 6:01 starts way earlier than most parties, and he knows that Gabe and the boys probably started drinking not long after brunch, but he wants to linger in this pre-party moment as long as he can.

Sam has armchair diagnosed him with social anxiety, but Dean still hears his father’s voice in his head whenever he thinks about trying to find a therapist. Therapy is for weak-minded people, John would say, then a note of pride in his voice as he added on, “Not for my boys.” The conversation used to come up often when Dean’s mom was in treatment, as the months stretched into years and the endless hope soured into denial, anger, and finally acceptance.

Dean winces, not wanting to wander down those well-traveled paths in his mind. He tries to shake himself out of it, but the thoughts keep coming – Mary, hooked up to tubes and machines in the hospital that once employed her. Sam, barely old enough to understand what was happening, watching his mother suffer. And then the funeral and the endless days of grey, grey, grey.

He knows that if he stays in his room, he’ll spiral. It’s barely 4:30, but he swings his legs off the bed and changes into an old white bro tank and bright red shorts for the occasion. He glances in the mirror, realizes he looks like Zac Efron in the Baywatch remake, and decides he doesn’t care.

Phone in one pocket, ID and room key in the other, he pours himself a plastic Arrowhead water bottle of vodka and cranberry juice and then adds a lime wedge to class it up. He puts the rest of the vodka and juice and some assorted other beverages in a paper Vons bag to bring to Jo’s room so he isn’t showing up empty-handed. Locking his room behind him, he walks as quickly as he can to Jo’s dorm at Scripps, keeping his head down so that he doesn’t have to converse with any other revelers.

When he arrives, Jo is helping Meg curl her hair while Anna tries on crop tops in front of the mirror. Dean takes a minute to acknowledge how strange it is that this is where he feels most comfortable on campus these days.

“Ladies,” he says, bowing. “Your beverages have arrived.” Anna rushes over and starts excitedly unloading the bag. Anna isn’t legal yet – as a sophomore, she still depends on her older girlfriend to buy her drinks for pregaming. Of course, Jo happily obliges.

“Dean, would you grab the hairspray from the bathroom?” Jo asks, concentrating fiercely. “And the comb that’s in there, please.”  
After delivering the required tools, Dean sits down on Jo’s bed and takes a sip from his vodka cranberry. It burns its way down his throat and he starts to relax a little bit, feeling comforted by the soft coziness of Jo’s dorm room. He leans back and begins chatting with Anna, getting his update on all the rugby gossip. As always, there’s a lot of it – apparently Claire broke up with her girlfriend in August and is now pursuing a straight girl from her major while Krissy is hopelessly obsessed with a freshman who won’t give her the time of day.

Dean is feeling pleasantly warm and loose by the time the girls are done getting ready and starting to pour their own drinks. He’s feeling straight-up drunk by the time they’re actually ready to go, with his hands numbing up a bit and not a single reservation on his mind. It is well past the 6:01 mark, with the sun starting to go down behind the old Scripps library, but from Gabe’s texts, the soccer party is still going and the girls still want to make an appearance.

They begin to wander outside in the still-hot Claremont evening, feeling unstoppable with the alcohol coursing through their veins. Dean can’t remember what he ate for dinner, or if he ate dinner, so Jo hands him a party-size bag of Doritos for the journey. She is their intrepid leader, guiding them towards the party and not letting them stop even when Anna and Dean start laughing so hard that they can’t remember why they’re laughing and have to sit down on the hot pavement for a break.

Finally, they make it to North Quad. Light spills out of all of the rooms on the first floor of Green – its residents are all soccer players, and each room holds a different themed drink. Dean gazes around, feeling soft, feeling warm, remembering that he loves these people, even if he doesn’t like them all the time. He bumps every fist he is presented with, passing out high fives like candy. He feels so good, so fucking good, remembering how fun alcohol is, but also a little bit thirsty and maybe there’s more to drink somewhere?

He loses track of the girls quickly but spots Gabriel’s light brown hair inside one of the brightly lit dorm rooms. He yells Gabe’s name but it’s too loud, too much going on, Gabe can’t hear him. As he gets closer, he becomes very aware that he is still not drunk enough for this.

Standing next to Gabe is a familiar pair of the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. In the harsh light of this dorm room after the soft evening tones outside, they seem supercharged, like an ever-expanding black hole sucking in everything in the immediate vicinity. Somewhere, vaguely, in the back of his mind he has a memory of Sam correcting him – black holes don’t suck anything, they just attract – so maybe it’s just that he’s never felt an attraction like this before.

_Hm,_ says a voice in Dean’s brain, _fellas, is it gay to compare a man’s eyes to a black hole?_ But he shuts it down immediately, taking a swig out of the Solo cup that somehow found its way into his hand, drinking in the tall, lithe body and messy black hair and swallowing them down with the jungle juice.

“Dean-o!” Gabe cries, flinging his arms open, oblivious to the tiny explosion that is happening inside of Dean’s head. “I hear you took care of my little bro’s bike last week!” He claps one hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes Castiel’s cheek with the other. “Nothing but the best for my sweet little punim.”

Oh no, oh no no no, this cannot be possible, cannot be right or real. What? Gabe is somehow related to Jo’s friend? How? How could it have not come up in four years of friendship that Gabe has a brother whom some people might find themselves attracted to in a frankly uncontrollable way?

Cas pulls out of Gabe’s grasp and huffs out a sigh. “We are not related by blood, Gabriel. I have reminded you of that many times.”

“Eh brother, half-brother, step-brother, fraternity brother, it all feels the same.”

“We uh. We don’t have fraternities,” Dean stammers, still frozen in place.

“Ol Cassie’s mom got hitched to my dad this summer,” Gabe says. Castiel’s frown deepens at the nickname. “We actually didn’t even meet until the wedding. That’s when I found out that this bag of chuckles is my fraternal twin brother now!”

“I mentioned to Gabriel at the wedding that I too was a student of the Claremont Consortium and he insisted that I attend his party,” Castiel offers as further explanation. “I’m not typically much for parties, but I do enjoy a good drink and an opportunity to observe young adult social behavior.” His solemnity is perplexing to Dean, who has trouble with social situations in the best of circumstances and is still rendered inept by the swirl of alcohol and horny brewing in his belly. Horniness? He’s truly not sure of the noun form, if one exists at all, and he’s certainly too drunk to consider it for long.

“Jo! It’s Jo!” Gabriel exclaims gleefully, seeing their friend in the doorway. “Jo, my sweet beautiful kumquat, how have you been? I’ve missed you in the training room.”

Jo hugs him, then Cas, and takes Dean’s jungle juice from his hand to take a sip. “I’ve been well, Sir Gabriel, and you? Castiel tells me that y’all literally met each other at your own parents’ wedding this summer. That has to be a traumatic story.”

Dean laughs a little bit too hard and makes weird eye contact with Cas. He doesn’t know when to look away, so he just keeps maintaining until he feels Jo’s elbow in his ribs. “Uh, what?” he asks, wondering what he missed.

“Just asking if you want to join the brunch plans we just made. Since you seem to be living in outer space.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I love brunch. Love those… eggs,” he says helplessly, frantically trying to remember how he usually strings together a sentence. “Listen, it was great to see you all, but I have to go. I have a, uh, thing.”

“A lady thing,” Gabe says knowingly, waggling his eyebrows and nudging Castiel, whose expression remains stoic.

“Sure,” Dean replies, backing out of the circle and edging out the door. “See you guys later!”

He sends the text one-handed, barely waiting a second for a response before setting course for yet another dorm room. _U there? I’m coming over._

His phone buzzes and he quickens his pace. _Leaving a party in Mid Quad. Be there in five. Door’s unlocked._

He turns the knob to a new room with the same Star Wars poster on the wall and mezuzah in the door frame as last year. The lights are off and he doesn’t bother to turn them on, sitting on the bed and toe-ing off his shoes. This is going to be quick, and sloppy, and drunk, and he’s not going to think about it right now, or maybe ever, because if he thinks about it then it’s real and if it’s real then there’s going to be even more thinking and _changing_ and if there’s anything Dean hates, it’s change.

The door swings open and Dean barely has a chance to register the flash of light from the hallway before it swings shut again, plunging them into darkness, and then there’s a body in his lap and hands in his hair and a mouth on his neck and he moans because it’s so fucking good and because against his absolute best judgment, he missed this a little bit. His hands find hips and he grinds into them, hard, then flips them over so that they’re lying on the bed together.

“Hello to you too,” Aaron mumbles in his ear. “Took my advice to HAGS, I guess.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, not wanting to talk because of the aforementioned thinking and changing, and throws his tank top somewhere in the direction of the floor. Aaron complies, pressing his mouth to Dean’s and pulling him down on top of him. Dean’s hands find Aaron’s, pressing them into the bed as he feels Aaron lightly nip at his bottom lip. He can feel his heart beating faster, feeling so goddamn alive, grinding his hips down and getting a heady rush as Aaron hardens beneath him.

This is the drug that keeps him coming back to this underclassman with a sweet smile and a soft brunette cowlick, the high that made him drink enough to make this okay every few weeks last semester; seeing this sturdy, powerful man turn soft and vulnerable beneath him. Aaron sucks wet kisses into Dean’s neck, biting down just a little like he knows Dean likes, until Dean gives in and lets Aaron take over.

He feels Aaron’s breath down his torso, down to the waistband of his Zefron shorts, teeth dragging across his skin and raising goosebumps along the way. Staring at the ceiling, he promises himself once again that this is the last time and tries not to think about blue eyes like black holes.


	4. cowboy like me

Maybe this is hell. Just a constant jaunty ringtone from somewhere in the room that won’t stop. Why? Why won’t it stop? Dean remembers reading stories of torture by repetition. This. This is that.

The ringtone starts again.

“No,” Dean groans, rolling over and pulling his pillow over his head. His mouth tastes like dirty socks and his eyes feel gritty and dry. He puked at some point in the night, just got up and got it over with, so his stomach is okay for the time being but he doesn’t feel like he should depend on that continuing to be true.

He got back from Aaron’s late, later than usual even, due to a prolonged effort by Aaron to convince him to sleep over. As Dean insisted on his usual departure in the 2:00 AM shadows, Aaron sighed and pulled his blanket up to his chest. “I came out to my dad this summer, you know,” he said. “I would be willing to actually try this, if you wanted to. I mean, we can just keep doing whatever this is too. But if I meet someone who wants to sleep over and have breakfast together, I’m going with the breakfast guy.” Dean just stared until Aaron nodded awkwardly and waved him out.

And now here he finds himself, poorly rested and extremely hungover, wondering why his damn phone keeps ringing. “Shut up,” he moans, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he can and keeping the pillow over his head. It doesn’t work. The ringtone starts again.

He forces himself to sit up and casts a bleary gaze around the room. His phone is up on top of his dresser, between his now-empty vodka cranberry bottle and a joint that is perhaps at the end of its life. Ah, college.

The phone is halfway through receiving what is, according to the screen, a thirteenth call attempt when Dean picks up. “Gabriel, I am not in the fucking mood,” he warns.

“Dean, my love, you don’t have to be like this. Have a little patience with Daddy Gabe.”

“Please, for the love of God and all things holy, do not call yourself that.”

“Well for the love of God and all things holy, you need to answer your phone faster! I’ve just been sitting in my car waiting for you. Cas and Jo are already there.”

Oh God, brunch. Oh, he had forgotten about this particular evil. “What do you mean, your car? Are we going to south campus Pomona or something?”

“No silly, we’re taking Cas to Norms. He’s never been, remember? The whole thing about how he loves diners so we couldn’t believe that he hadn’t tried Norms? We talked about it for like ten full minutes, dude. How much did you drink last night? Anyway, you gotta get a move on, buddy. We were supposed to be there twenty minutes ago!”

Trying to remember the details of what he agreed to and frankly regretting both the effort and the agreement, Dean stumbles through the motions of getting dressed and tries to remember where his wallet is. The bright red shorts from last night hang haphazardly from his desk drawer and he avoids eye contact as he slips on a pair of navy athletic shorts instead.

Deciding that maybe he’ll ride the inertia of brunch to the library, he grabs his backpack on his way out and zips up his laptop and notebooks inside. He gets to Gabe’s car a few minutes later, chewing some Extra Polar Ice and hoping he doesn’t look as terrible as he feels.

“Damn, dude,” Gabriel lets out a low whistle. “Didn’t realize you shared such a resemblance with death incarnate.”

Dean leans his seat back all the way and puts on his sunglasses. “Don’t talk. Just drive.”

They arrive at the diner within a few minutes and Dean still does not feel prepared for the experience. He elects to keep his sunglasses on even as they spot Cas and Jo in a booth by the window and slide into their seats. The diner smells like a familiar mix of coffee, grease, and salt, and Dean’s stomach rumbles in anticipation. He tries not to pick at the old, chipping vinyl of the booth, or get distracted by the intensity of Castiel’s gaze from across the table. He’s glad he picked the spot next to Jo.

“Dean’s hungover,” Gabe says, jerking a thumb in his direction. “No sudden movements.”

“’Tis merely a flesh wound,” Dean mumbles, sinking further down in his seat. “Don’t talk to me.”

His body remains structureless through ordering and receiving his standard scrambled eggs with bacon, toast, and sausage and a black coffee but he starts to take human shape as he scrapes the last few bites of eggs into his mouth. Jo and Gabriel have kept up a steady chatter, pulling contributions out of Castiel every few minutes.

“I have recovered,” he declares, pushing himself back up into a seated position. “Thank you for enabling my access to these life-changing nutrients.”

Jo turns and bows to him. “An honor and a privilege to help you rejoin the living, Sir Winchester.”

“And, as always, a shout-out to my main man Norm and his Lumberjack Breakfast and his--”

“There’s no apostrophe,” Castiel says, interrupting him.

Dean makes eye contact with him. His gaze is hyper-focused and unwavering, and Dean feels like he’s suffocating under the pressure of those eyes. “What?” he asks.

“There’s no apostrophe. It’s just ‘NORMS.’ Stylized, certainly, but I am not convinced that the restaurant chain is of or belonging to a man named Norman.”

Dean leans back, rubbing his chin. “Now there’s a good point, Cas. Perhaps the restaurant is owned by a collection of Norms. Just many Norms in a restaurant ownership group.”

“That would be Norms’ with an apostrophe after the s,” says Jo. “Boom. English major.”

“Executive decision, it’s one dude with the last name Norms,” Gabriel decrees, lifting a French fry in fake salute.

“Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not some farcical French fry ceremony,” Cas says drily, reaching for his water glass.

“Whoa. Dude. Did you just quote Holy Grail? You? Like Monty Python and the Holy Grail?” Dean asks, more than a little bit surprised. One side of Cas’ mouth quirks up into a slight grin.

“You really shouldn’t be so surprised, Dean. Gabriel and Joanna tell me that we have many things in common.”

“Castiel is a Psych major too,” Jo explains, stealing two full handfuls of fries from Gabe’s plate while he’s distracted by the conversation. “And you’re both advised by Jody, and you both like biking and sometimes go to that theology club and attend all of the free film screenings on campus. It’s kind of surprising that you haven’t run into each other before.”

“Wait, you go to the film screenings? Did you go to the showing of High Noon last semester? Some guy basically presented a media studies thesis comparing it to McCarthyism.”

“Yes, that’s one of my favorite comparison points for frankly any piece of media. That and any connection to the book of Revelation.”

“That was _you_?”

“Yes, and that one is actually a fairly obvious allegory. Though I must admit that sometimes I draw more abstract conclusions. You should read the essay I wrote on the queer symbolism in National Treasure sophomore year.”

Dean snorts. “Sure, National Treasure. Another stalwart American classic.”

“I haven’t seen it,” says Gabe, attempting to wrest the remnants of his fries back out of Jo’s grip. “Any good?”

“Me neither,” says Jo, dumping ketchup all over Gabriel’s hands.

“Though it is not the pinnacle of cinematic accomplishment, I would still recommend a viewing,” says Cas. “Especially for the queer symbolism.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was going to say.”

“Dean, do you even know how to spell ‘pinnacle?’”

“Shut your damn mouth, Jo. The youths have no respect these days.”

“You’re, like, eight months older than me.”

“Regardless,” Dean says, grabbing a napkin out of the dispenser and pulling a pen from his backpack, “perhaps a film club of our very own is in order. Jo and I have been trying to make it happen for years because she hasn’t seen anything and I’ve seen everything, but we could never get the soccer guys to buy in.”

“Hello from a soccer guy,” says a ketchup-soaked Gabriel. “I love a little GNI. Girls’ Night In, Cassie, don’t make that face.”

“I agree,” says Jo, victoriously swiping a French fry across Gabriel’s ketchup-hand. “Movie nights sound great. Can we start tonight? I’ll bring prosecco. I bet Anna and Meg would want to join too.”

By the time Gabriel drops Dean back off at his dorm, thoughts of the library long forgotten, he’s feeling much more normal and even excited about the semester ahead. They had overstayed their welcome at Norms to brainstorm a list of movies that could potentially be fun for movie nights. Tonight would be National Treasure, and Cas even offered to host. The promise of a good movie and a non-sports-related social event is apparently all it takes to put a pep in Dean’s step, because he feels downright jovial as he unlocks his door and drops his backpack on the desk chair. He slides his phone out of his pocket and texts Sam. _Dude, I have a new friend that I think u would like. He’s a nerd just like you._

Sam responds almost immediately. _You met someone cool? Seems suspicious_

_His name is Castiel and he’s a film buff Psych major. Into religious stuff_

_LOL with a name like that, I bet he is. Really loves Thursdays?_

Dean frowns and pulls up a Safari window on his phone. He types Castiel’s name into the search bar and clicks on the first result. Apparently Castiel is a Biblical name and refers to the angel of Thursdays. Go figure. Dean hadn’t even balked at the name after meeting a girl named Mystical Raine in his Pitzer pottery class freshman spring. 

_U knowing that makes u a nerd, nerd_

_You saying that makes you a bitch, bitch_ , comes the instantaneous response. Dean chuckles. Few things are more predictable than his relationship with Sam.

He plugs his phone in on the nightstand and grabs his laptop from his backpack, then flops down on his bed. As the harsh afternoon light softens into an evening glow, he works through an article analysis for his Psychology of Aging class, a blog post for his Religion and Trauma class, a presentation for the Ghosts and the Machines class that he did ultimately get into, and a long reading on Gaventian power analysis for his Race, Nation, and Baseball class.

With each assignment completed, Dean’s mind wanders a little bit less. He wishes he had made time for a quick run before his homework, since the events of the last forty-eight hours are enough to fill his thoughts for at least a few miles. He still can’t shake the anxiety he feels about the whole Aaron situation and idly wonders if he should close the book on that for good.

It’s not that Dean is homophobic at all. He’d definitely consider himself an ally. He just knows that he’s not gay, plain and simple. It’s fine to hook up with a dude – it is college after all – but Dean’s not about to make it part of his identity. He likes women, and women like him, and he hasn’t had any problem with finding a steady supply of them on the weekends when he doesn’t feel like seeing Aaron.

Actually, speaking of, he should probably text Lisa soon and see if she wants to grab a meal or something. They hadn’t ended on good terms, exactly, but he still thinks that they could make it as friends. Lisa was one of the few people who knew about what she called Dean’s “origin story.” Jo just calls it “trauma.” Dean thinks both make good points.

As he closes out of his final Google doc for the day, he glances at the computer clock and realizes that he barely has enough time to pick up dinner from the dining hall before movie night is set to start. Suddenly, he feels the nerves tingling in his hands again.

Dean hurries through packing his backpack with snacks to share and texting Jo to ask her to bring the alcohol he left in her room, then speed-walks through the Pitzer dining hall on his way over to Castiel’s dorm. Four years in and he still doesn’t really know which Pitzer dorm is which, so he waits for Jo on the dining hall stairs with his takeout container in hand. She arrives within a few minutes, wearing the tiniest tank top Dean has ever seen and some kind of excuse for shorts. Anna, beside her, must have just come from practice. For once, Dean doesn’t feel the twinge of envy – no sport is worth practicing in this heat.

Jo leads him up through the cactus-lined gravel paths of Pitzer, past the murals, around the back of a courtyard that Dean once puked in on a particularly out-of-hand Halloween and arrives at what seems like the millionth orange building on this campus. Someone is leaving when they get to the gate, so Jo holds it open as Dean and Anna slip past her to get inside.

Castiel lives in a suite, Jo tells Dean, with a few other roommates that she has met once or twice. Apparently they all came in as religious studies majors and realized they lived well together across several doubles in their freshman year, so they’ve been living together ever since. Dean absorbs this information while focusing most of his energy on not slipping all the way back down the stairs of this dorm. He’s relieved when they arrive at a door that features a cloud-shaped piece of construction paper with Castiel’s name on it. He only has to knock twice before the door opens.

“Welcome,” Cas greets them. He’s wearing a pair of blue sweatpants and a tan bathrobe with another old t-shirt. Dean feels a blast of dry, deliciously cold air from the room behind him. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

“Castiel, where’s the bathroom?” Jo asks, gesturing to Anna.

“Ah, of course. Anna, you are still welcome to shower here. I put out a towel for you and you can use any of the products in the blue caddy. Please let me know if you need anything. Bathroom is the last door at the end of the hall,” Cas says, pointing towards the only open door in the suite.

“Thanks,” Jo says, smiling at Castiel. “And, uh, I’m just going to go with Anna to make sure she has everything she needs in there. Right, Anna?” Anna nods vigorously and they both giggle less-than-subtly as they head for the shower.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Women, am I right?” he jokes to Cas.

Cas solemnly shakes his head. “Lesbians,” he sighs instead. Dean lets out a surprised chuckle.

Cas leads them over to what is clearly meant to be the living room area of the suite. Someone has installed a series of mismatched bean bags and floor pillows. Along one wall, Dean sees a set of four stadium-style seats bolted together. Across the room, a small loveseat has been decorated with embroidered hearts and stamped-on Cupids. The far wall holds a TV that is playing muted CW shows with closed captioning. Aside from the eclectic decor, Dean is pleasantly surprised by how clean and functional the suite appears to be.

“Sit anywhere,” Cas says, gesturing towards the pillows and poufs. “And would you like a drink? We have Jo’s drinks or any kind of alcoholic seltzer.”

“Do you have any beer? If not, a seltzer is fine.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Just the seltzers. I can grab you one from the fridge.” He crosses to a mini-fridge that Dean had somehow missed earlier, despite it being painted in a loud rainbow pattern. It’s stocked to the brim with, exactly as Castiel had described, truly every kind of alcoholic seltzer on the market. Cas tosses him a black cherry flavor from a brand he’s never heard of and he sits down at the very edge of the loveseat to start drinking it.

Cas, a raspberry seltzer in his own hand, sits on the loveseat as well. Their thighs are almost touching and Dean has to lean hard on the couch’s armrest to avoid pressing his shoulder to Castiel’s. It makes the drinking harder and also, for some reason, more urgent.

The silence stretches between them and Dean feels like he’s drowning in it. He grasps wildly for conversation topics, but everything he has to say feels boring. He tries to think as he vaguely watches the silent TV screen, which seems to be a show about vampires in love. Finally, he settles on the safest territory he can think of. “So, where are your roommates tonight?” he asks, gesturing to the many empty seats. “Weren’t interested in a Nicolas Cage deep dive?”

“They are at an orgy,” Castiel responds in a neutral tone. Dean chokes on his seltzer and coughs for several minutes before responding. To his credit, Cas treats this with the same neutrality. “Cool,” Dean finally chokes out.

“They are cool,” Cas responds. “They are very cool. They have been very good to me since I arrived here, so it does not bother me that they’re often gone. Even though I do sometimes wish for a bit more company.”

“Well if you ever want to hang out, I’m around,” says Dean. “Not sure if you heard, but I’m a jock without a flock anymore. Got a lot of time on my hands these days.”

Cas furrows his brow and turns to look at Dean. When their eyes meet, his gaze softens, as if he’s seeing something in Dean’s face that’s changing his mind about something. Dean suddenly feels exposed, like Castiel can see straight down to his soul. “I would like that, Dean,” Cas says softly. “I do not have a lot of friends here.” He’s silent for a beat. “Just fans.”

His delivery is so dry that Dean almost can’t tell for sure if he’s joking. When they both turn back to face the TV, Dean tries hard not to notice where their shoulders press together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to put this at the end this time because of spoilies, but in the real-life situation this chapter is based on, the movie we watched was It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! And it was our thighs pressing together not shoulders because we were sitting side by side squished together on a bed with all our friends. And an hour after the movie ended, the sophomores next door yelled at us for having fun too loudly because we were singing along to The Monster Mash. :)


	5. In A Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best relationships start by accidental invitation, and this one is no exception :)
> 
> Finally a healthy serving of witty banter and Representation for Salads.

Movie night quickly turns into Dean’s favorite part of the week. As the oppressive heat of August melts into the long nights of September and then slowly dissolves into the slightly cooler days of October, they make their way through both National Treasures, the entire Twilight Saga (with much complaining from Dean and Gabriel, though Jo tells them that it sounds insincere), and a brief flirtation with the Bourne series.

Sometimes they even start early and fit in two movies back-to-back; on these nights, Dean often ends up drunk and sleepy and convincing himself to walk out that door instead of sinking into the loveseat that has become his standard seating assignment in Cas’ suite. On these nights, he often also ends up texting Aaron for a quick exchange of lazy handjobs before falling into a drunken sleep.

Anna comes to the first few, but her attendance drops off as her practice schedule intensifies. Meg fills in when she can, but most often it’s just Dean, Jo, Gabe, and Cas, popping seltzers and sharing trays of dining hall fries. They return to Cas’ suite through Eclipse but bring Breaking Dawn, Part 1 to Jo’s when Cas tells them that his suitemate needs the space for a few weeks. Dean, remembering the orgies, doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.

While he doesn’t want to know more about the suitemates and their sexual escapades, Dean finds himself inexplicably drawn in by Castiel’s general aura of mystery. He asks Cas everything he can think of – parents (distant, disciplined, a lawyer and a professor), siblings (several by blood and several by marriage, including Gabe), childhood (quiet and largely uneventful), and future aspirations (LA, for grad school, and then not sure) – in the short spaces when they are alone together before Jo and Gabriel arrive. This becomes less possible once Gabriel starts hosting, which is how Dean finds himself asking Cas whether he has dinner plans for the next day during a bathroom break.

“I would love to have dinner with you, Dean,” says Cas, looking pleasantly surprised.

Dean, for his part, feels pretty pleasantly surprised as well.

They end up deciding on Scripps for dinner, since it’s not a great menu at any of the dining halls and Scripps has the most dependable salad bar. Not that Dean is particularly interested in that, but all of the dining halls have burgers and Cas seems particularly excited about some leafy greens.

Dean arrives a little bit early and takes his food outside to a patio table. He sends a quick text to Cas. _Got a table in Seal Court, see u soon!_ He deletes the exclamation point after a moment of thought and then hits send.

_Thank you, Dean. I will be there in a moment. Can I bring you anything from inside?_

_Nope, I’m good_

Castiel arrives two minutes later with a salad in one hand and a small bowl of apple pie in the other. “I remembered that you said it was your favorite,” he says by way of explanation. Dean’s eyes widen.

“Hell yeah it is, dude! I forgot that they do pie here. Thank you,” he says, abandoning his burger and digging into the sugary apples. “Best dinner ever.”

Castiel offers him a rare smile. “You may need to raise your standards.”

Dean scoffs. “I think they’re pretty good where they are,” he says, leaning in for another bite of pie. He catches Cas’ eye and sees a flash of something in them as his lips close around the fork.

“How have you been enjoying your classes?” Cas asks him. “Anything good?”

Dean dives into a retelling of his most recent misadventures in Ghostly Machines, which had been spent on an experiment to try and summon his classmates’ special supernatural energies today. The entire class had had to channel their focus into a small side table that the professor brought in specifically for this purpose – so they could try lifting it with their minds. “I really can’t believe I’m getting credit for this, honestly,” Dean finishes. Cas laughs.

“Last semester I took a class called ‘Pottery and the Art of Love,’” he admits. “Since then, I have not felt that I am in a position to judge.”

Dean is about to answer when suddenly a red-haired girl with a Yoda backpack and a Harry Potter t-shirt appears beside their table. “Castiel, a rare sighting in the wild,” she says, patting him fondly on the head. She turns to Dean. “I do not believe that I have made your acquaintance, sir. What may I call you?”

“Uh, Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Well, Dean Winchester, is okay if I interrupt your private dinner hour with Castiel? This ol’ boy hasn’t been answering my calls lately and I think he might be cheating on me.”

Dean lifts his eyebrows and leans back. Cas has a girlfriend?

Cas sighs. “Dean, this is my friend Charlie.”

“ _Best_ friend.”

“Dean, this is my best friend Charlie. She goes to Mudd, so she has had too much work to make it to our Sunday movie nights, though she tells me every day that she is quite envious.”

“Envious doesn’t begin to describe it,” Charlie says, her eyes comedically wide as she turns to Dean. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get Castiel to attend a social event with me, especially one of or related to nerd media?”

“I would be more inclined to share the experience with you if you weren’t such a movie talker.”

Dean snorts. “Well, Charlie, it is wonderful to meet you. Sorry we’ve been stealing Cas away for movie nights.”

Charlie furrows her brow and looks at Cas expectantly. Her jaw drops and she yelps, “You’ve trained him out of that, too? He never lets me call him Cas!”

In his driest tone, Cas says, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” Charlie looks like she’s going to explode. Cas aims the slightest wink at Dean, so subtle that it could just be a trick of the light. “Charlie, we are glad to have you. Pull up a chair.”

In the course of what feels like the next thirty seconds, Dean learns that Charlie is a Libra rising, a computer science major, first in her class at Mudd, actively being recruited by several government agencies, and planning to go rogue the second she graduates anyway. He wonders why she led with the star sign.

While Cas gets up to refill his and Dean’s water glasses and, with a pleading look from Dean, grab another slice of pie, Charlie also tells Dean about how she met Cas at freshman orientation when he wore a full-length trench coat to a party at her dorm. Her description of it has Dean in stitches by the time Castiel returns, pie in hand.

“I still believe that I was dressed appropriately,” Cas interjects grumpily, sitting down. “It was a party and those were my party clothes.”

Charlie and Dean look at each other and burst out laughing.

“Regardless, Charlie, you’ll have to stop there so that I can preserve some of my modesty,” Cas says to her. “That story does not have a flattering ending for me. And a lady doesn’t give it all up at once.”

“A lady can do whatever she damn well pleases in a post-third wave society.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas and Charlie say together.

Charlie is halfway through telling Dean about the time that she and Cas tried to road trip to Vegas together when she interrupts herself to turn to Cas. “Please don’t hate me,” she begs. “I just remembered something that’s going to make you kind of mad.”

“I won’t hate you, Charlie. That is an extreme emotion of which I am simply not capable.”

“You might, a little. I have to back out of our fall break plans. Dorothy surprised me with plane tickets to go visit her in Seattle.”

“Ah, for the fickle nature of women!”

“Shut up, Dean.”

“Maybe Dean will invite you on his fall break plans instead. Dean, what are you doing for fall break?” asks Charlie, looking hopeful.

Dean laughs. “Oh, yeah, you’re totally welcome to drive up to Palo Alto with me and crash in my little brother’s dorm room for the weekend.”

“Okay,” says Cas amicably. “I would love to join you for your trip.”

Dean stares at him. “You, uh, would?”

“Yes, Dean, that sounds lovely. Thank you for inviting me.”

Dean looks at Charlie, feeling helpless. She winks. “Sounds like y’all have a great trip ahead of you,” she says. “Now, would anyone like to come inside with me for a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie?”


	6. Animal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! There is Only One Bed! ;)

_Wait, so…. He’s just…. Coming on your trip?_

_Yeah man I don’t really know how it happened_

_Does he know that I only have 1 bed available?_

_Jesus lol I didn’t know that_

_Where did you think you were sleeping?? Brady’s out of town, that’s why I invited you up_

_Shit_

_Yes_

_Guess we’re going to be even better friends by the end of it?_

_Lol. Hope so_

By the time fall break rolls around, Cas and Dean have settled into a routine of movie nights on Sunday, dinner on Monday, breakfast on Wednesday, brunch on Saturday, and the odd night drinking together at some point during the weekend if they both happen to be available. Jo jokes that Cas is Dean’s emotional support animal. Dean bristles.

But he has to admit, he’s having a lot of fun with the guy. Cas, in an extremely unexpected twist, is one of the funniest people Dean has ever met. What he had initially perceived as some kind of uncomfortable aloofness is actually the driest, sharpest sense of humor he’s ever seen. And they never run out of things to talk about, either. Jo was right that it’s surprising they hadn’t run into each other before on campus - they like all the same movies, have taken a bunch of the same classes at different times, and have all the same favorite spots on campus.

Right now, they’re at the Scripps coffee shop, loading up on caffeine before the drive ahead. “Thank you,” Dean says absentmindedly as Cas sets down a to-go mug of steaming latte and a plate of fried eggs and toast in front of him. He’s staring at a zoomed out Google Maps, trying to see what time they’ll actually arrive in Palo Alto.

Aside from his one hurried text conversation with Sam, Dean has done very little planning for this trip. Mostly what he’s done is ask himself whether it’s weirder to share Brady’s bed with Cas or Sam’s bed with Sam. He’s certainly shared plenty of beds with Sam before, so he’s leaning towards that option, though his memory of certain Sam-related gaseous odors puts him off the idea just a touch. The floor suddenly seems incredibly inviting.

“You about ready to go as soon as we finish?” Dean asks Cas, picking up his latte for a sip and following it with a bite of eggs and toast.

“Absolutely,” says Cas. “I even brought my bag in case you’d like to leave from here.”

That works for Dean – he had packed the car last night and didn’t need to go back to his room before they hit the road. He stuffs the rest of the eggs and toast into his mouth as fast as he can and wipes his mouth with a napkin that Cas hands him. “I can take our plates and then we can go?” Cas asks, already standing up to do so. Dean nods.

They make their way over to where Dean is parked in the student lot. Cas scans the Toyotas in the lot. “Which one is you?” Dean points. Cas’s eyes bug out. “ _That’s_ you? I have been wondering about the owner of that car for years. What is she, a ’66? Chevy Impala? Back when they still built them to last.”

Dean whistles, not _not_ impressed by this development. “Damn, dude, you know cars? She’s a ’67, but you were pretty close.”

Cas’ eyes remain wide as he approaches the car with a certain reverence. “My grandfather used to collect classic cars. They were all sold off when he died, but I still know a beauty when I see one.” Dean unlocks the car and Cas, with extreme delicacy, places his bag in the backseat.

The wide-eyed gaze wears off well into hour three, when they stop for gas. They manage to keep up a steady conversation about classes, movies, and cars, and Cas doesn’t once violate Dean’s “no complaining about the music” rule. He even surprises Dean with a maximum-volume rendition of Back in Black as they cruise through Gilroy.

They pull up outside of a beautiful, Spanish-style dorm building sometime in the early afternoon. Dean pulls into a parking spot and lets out a sigh then subsequent groan as he stretches his creaky legs out and swings out of the driver’s seat into the bright sunshine of the Palo Alto afternoon. Walking around the back to lean against the trunk, he shoots a quick text to Sam letting him know that they’ve arrived.

Cas joins him, blinking as he takes off his sunglasses. “Does it smell like a place of higher learning to you?” he says to Dean, sniffing the air. “We don’t seem to have this scent back in Claremont.”

Dean takes a whiff. “Nah, I think that’s just a few festering superiority complexes. Sammy!” he yelps, spotting his gigantor brother waving so hard he fears for his shoulder health.

“Dean!” Sam pulls him into a hug. “You’re here! You made it!”

“Took a few wrong turns, but we ended up in the right place. Sam, this is my friend Cas. Or, uh, Castiel?”

Cas steps forward and shakes Sam’s hand. “You can call me either. I have adjusted to the nickname at this point.”

Sam laughs good-naturedly. “Well, I apologize for my brother re-naming you, but glad to have you both here. Can I take a bag?”

He leads them through a courtyard, up two flights of stairs, and down a long hallway before stopping in front of a door that says “Sam and Brady!” inside of a yellow school bus. The dorm is fairly quiet; it seems that most of Sam’s peers have left campus for fall break. Dean feels a brief pang of guilt for making his brother spend this time with him, but pushes it down as hard as he can.

Sam opens the door to reveal his room and Dean stops in his tracks. Cas bumps up behind him and mutters an apology. “Oh, sorry,” Dean responds absent-mindedly, continuing into the room. He wasn’t sure why, but he really hadn’t imagined it to be this _small_. Especially because most of the people he knows have queen beds in their dorms by now, and because even as a freshman he had had a bottom bunk with some extra width.

In front of him is a standard-issue freshman dorm room. On each side he sees a desk in the far corner, then a twin extra-long bed along the wall, and dressers closest to the door. Sam and Brady have put up what looks like an extremely cheap Target shower curtain down the center of the room, which Sam is explaining to Cas now. Cas’ brow is furrowed, probably because Dean had kind of made it sound like they were going to be staying in a two-room suite with a private bathroom.

“The curtain was Brady’s idea,” Sam says, gesturing. “Obviously it’s not any real privacy, but it does help a little when one of us has, a, uh, you know, like, a, um, girl—”

“Oooh, Sammy, you got a _girlfriend_?” Dean says, trying to tame the sudden nerves he has about these tight quarters. “And here I thought you were putting up this fancy privacy screen for little old me!”

Sam’s face reddens. “She’s not my girlfriend, exactly, just a girl I like, and Dean, you can’t embarrass me, she’s really cool and smart and pretty and nice and I want her to like me.”

“Holy shit, dude, you seriously have a girlfriend? Good for you! How come I haven’t heard about her before? What’s her name?”  
“It’s Jess,” Sam says, still red and now very interested in what’s happening on the backs of his hands. “Her name is Jess and she lives down the hall. I think she’s going to come out with us tomorrow night, if that’s okay.”

Dean opens his mouth but gets cut off by Castiel. “We would be delighted to meet your friend, Sam,” Cas says, shooting a look at Dean. “Despite what your brother may be demonstrating right now, he is very proud of you and I’m sure he looks forward to behaving himself tomorrow night.”

Sam laughs. “Cas, I’m glad Dean has you around to keep him in line when I can’t.”

“If only.”

Dean rolls his eyes and jumps on Sam’s bed. “So, what does a guy have to do to get a burger and some pie around here?”

They pass the first night playing cards, ordering takeout, and nursing beers for longer than is truly necessary. Dean and Cas have a minor disagreement about sleeping arrangements, but Dean wins by simply lying down on the floor with Sam’s extra blanket and falling asleep before Cas can try to fight him further. He wakes up feeling a million years old with all of his joints creaking and clicking, but still feels a smile spread across this face when he sees Cas’ bleary, blinking morning face looking down at him from Brady’s bed.

Sam takes them to a coffee shop in downtown Palo Alto for breakfast, and Dean embarrasses him by mispronouncing all the fancy blends before finally just ordering a black coffee and a muffin. Cas joins in by asking the barista if she can recommend a Starbucks in the area, and Sam lets out a laugh despite himself.

It’s good to see Sam relaxed and at ease; there had been some years there where Dean wasn’t really sure that he would ever see Sam happy again. Dean’s freshman year, he had driven back to Kansas almost once a month to check on Sam and make sure that he was okay. After losing their mom and then their dad in rapid succession, it seemed only reasonable that the kid might be having a tough time. Luckily, Bobby and the guys in his shop stepped in to make sure that Sam was fed, housed, clothed, and even employed when he wanted to be. Sam, meanwhile, had funneled all of his energy into getting the best grades possible so that he could end up, well, here.

Here being snorting his latte out of both nostrils after being caught off-guard by one of Castiel’s more unexpected jokes. The two of them really seem to be getting along, and Dean feels a warm glow in his chest as he watches them laughing together. He hadn’t known that this would mean so much to him, but it really feels like he suddenly has a family again.

They walk around downtown Palo Alto for a few hours, checking out an old bookstore, a magic shop, and an Apple store in rapid succession. They finish with a few scoops of ice cream at a smaller storefront, and Dean delights in covering his with as many sprinkles as he can find in the self-serve station. Castiel, for his part, orders a child’s serving of coffee flavor. “I can’t handle sugar,” he says in response to Dean’s questioning look. “Last time I had a regular scoop of ice cream, several people ended up dead.” Dean is ninety percent sure he’s joking.

As the afternoon stretches into evening, Dean feels his last anxieties about this trip dissolve. So what if he’s a little bit achey from a night on the dorm room floor? His people are safe and happy, and he is high from the constant input of sugary foods and, dare he say, love. Like, love for his brother. And friend love. Not, like, romantic love. Gross.

“Dean, did you hear me?” Sam is looking at him expectantly as they pull into the parking lot. The sun is going down over a cluster of trees in the distance, and Dean knows they are supposed to be heading out soon to a house party at one of Sam’s friends’ places.

“What?” Dean says, whipping around to meet his gaze. “What did you say?”

“Jess is coming over in about thirty minutes, so if you want to shower you should do it now.”

“Oh, yeah. Uh, of course.”

“I would like to take a shower,” says Castiel. Dean glances in the rearview and doesn’t see him. When he turns around, he sees Cas fully lying down in the backseat. “This combination of sugar and caffeine does not particularly agree with me,” Cas sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m hopeful that a shower will help.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Dean is making final decisions about whether to go with a leather jacket or just cuff the sleeves on his green plaid flannel. Cas is still in the shower, drowning his sugary sins in Sam’s unscented Dove bar soap, but Dean can hear Sam nervously shouting a five-minute warning to him through the wall. On the dresser, Dean sees a few bottles of cologne; sniffing one, he deems it acceptable and dabs it around his neck and pits.

The door bursts open and Dean startles, almost shattering the cologne bottle. “Jesus, Sammy,” he growls. “You don’t come with a warning bell yet?”

“She’s coming,” Sam says with the tension of a man about to enter a war. “She just said she’s coming over now. Dean, don’t be weird, okay? Don’t be fucking weird and don’t say anything about that one time I—”

“The time you what?” In the doorway stands a tall, slender woman with blonde curls and warmly dimpled smile. “I don’t know, Sam, sounds like a story I probably want to hear.”

Sam lets out a sound that seems like halfway between a shriek and a laugh, in a register that maybe only dogs can detect. Dean grins. “Jess, is that you? An honor and a privilege to meet the girl who’s got my brother so nervous.”

Jess laughs, easily and loudly. “Well, I don’t know about that. But if you’re anything like Sam here, I’m sure we’ll be great friends.” She pulls on Sam’s arm until they’re sitting on his bed. Dean looks around before plopping himself into Sam’s desk chair.

“So, Jess, tell me about yourself,” he begins. She covers all the standard territory – freshman from Palo Alto (it’s one of her friends from high school who’s throwing the house party they’re headed to tonight), interested in a pre-med track, loves dogs and hiking, knows Brady from summer camp, and initially bonded with Sam over their shared love of Lord of the Rings (gross). She’s halfway through telling them about her internship with Stanford Hospital when the door opens once again and Dean looks up, unguarded.

In the doorway stands Castiel. His hair looks somehow even thicker and darker than usual, which is making his eyes shine even brighter. He’s dressed in a slim cut white button-down and grey slacks, with his famed tan trench coat on top. Forgetting himself, Dean lets his gaze wander across the tightly fitted fabric of the white shirt and admires the length of Cas’ legs in those slacks. Clearing his throat, he adjusts his legs and leans back before arranging his features into more of a judgmental scowl.

“Cas, you can’t wear that,” he says, interrupting Jess’ introduction. “Those aren’t party clothes.”

“What do you mean?” Cas asks innocently. “This is my best trench coat.” Jess snorts but tries to keep a straight face when Sam catches her eye.

“Man, you can’t wear a trench coat to a house party! You’re going to drink in those clothes? And dance?”

“Dean, you just told me to bring an outfit for a party,” Cas argues heatedly. “You didn’t tell me what kind of party, and these are the only clothes I have, so I’m wearing them.”

“I said party and you inferred fundraising event for a Republican senator? No, you’re not wearing that.”

Sam and Jess are following the conversation like a tennis match, but at this point Sam stands up and pulls Jess along with him. “Um, we’re going to wait outside,” he says. “Y’all can let us know when you’re ready.”

Cas wheels around on Dean as the door closes behind them. “I’m ready _now_ , in my _party clothes._ ”

Dean rolls his eyes and walks over to his duffel bag. “I get it, Tyra Banks. You’re America’s next top model. Either way, you’re not wearing that to a house party in this day and age. Here, take these.” He tosses Cas a pair of grey shorts and a black t-shirt. He knows that they aren’t exactly the same size, but they should fit.

Cas is still fuming as he shrugs off his trench coat and throws it on the bed. “I don’t understand why you treat me like this “ –unzips his pants–“like I am a CHILD” –rips his white button-down out of his waistband, unbuttoning so furiously that Dean fears for the shirt—"when I am a perfectly full-grown and capable adult who can make my own goddamn decisions. You ass… butt.”

He shoves his slacks down and suddenly he is standing in his underwear in front of Dean. Who, huh, wouldn’t have expected him to be a boxers guy. His chest heaves with the effort of this dramatic disrobing, and Dean is privately extremely impressed by the muscle tone of the abs that he can see in his peripheral vision as he keeps his gaze trained very intentionally on Cas’ face.

Cas’ face, which now has an indiscernible expression on it as he takes in Dean’s gaze. “Dean,” he begins, his face softening, but Dean isn’t ready for that.

“I’m going to go wait outside with Sam and Jess,” he says. “I’ll, uh, see you out there when you’re dressed.” He doesn’t wait for a response before letting the door slam shut behind him.

He almost physically runs into Sam in the hallway. “Sorry about that,” he mutters.

Jess smiles kindly. “It’s okay,” she says. “You and your boyfriend are cute. I can tell you care a lot about each other.”

Dean whips around. “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend. I mean – I’m not, you know. I’m straight.”

Jess looks surprised, but nods anyway. They don’t say anything else about it.

The energy feels tense through dinner at a local pizza joint, but Sam and Jess fill the empty space with light banter and entertaining stories about their new professors, classmates, and friends. Sam tells his standard three not-very-funny date stories and Jess still laughs at all of them, so Dean concludes that she must be his soulmate.

They stop at a liquor store so that Dean can pick up some alcohol for the night, and then start pregaming in Sam’s room. Dean feels the energy lighten with each drink that he and Castiel take, so he begins some heavier pours into their respective glasses. By the time they start getting ready to leave, he and Cas are both, well, drunk.

Not like Sam is going to notice, though – he and Jess have been unable to look away from each other since the first round of shots. Dean’s actually not sure if they can physically see outside of their private little love tunnel anymore.

They spill out into the night at about 11:00, and Dean orders a Lyft on his phone. Sam beats him to the passenger seat and he ends up squished in the back with Jess and Cas. Jess insists that Cas’ hips are slimmer than hers, so he sits in the middle with his full body pressed against Dean’s. Dean doesn’t mind, though, because now he’s drunk and it’s kind of nice to lean into Cas’ body and let the warmth spread through him. He’s just a little bit disappointed when they pull up outside of a beautiful, two-story Palo Alto home and have to join the world again.

Dean can see people silhouetted in windows and doorways, gathered in small groups and spilling down the driveway. Sam pulls them through the crowd to the kitchen, where Jess introduces them to the host, a redhead by the name of Ed. Dean, not particularly caring about who is hosting beyond knowing what alcohol they have made available, shrugs and takes a shot of some kind of clear liquor from the countertop.

“Dean, I want to dance,” Castiel pleads, tugging on Dean’s pocket. “Dean, can we go dance?” He doesn’t wait for a response before grabbing Dean’s hand and heading towards the source of the music, a giant, booming speaker in the corner of the living room. The lights are off and the room pulses with bodies, packed in so tightly that Dean can barely identify them as individual people.

He keeps his eyes trained on Cas’ back, hand clutched tightly in sweaty hand. His gaze wanders down to where Cas fills out those grey shorts so well, better than Dean ever has. Vaguely, Dean has the thought that Aaron is hot, no question, but he doesn’t have the ass that Cas has. Or the confidence, or the humor, or the stormy ocean blue eyes that Dean wants to fucking drown in.

He’s not paying attention when Cas stops and so he stumbles a bit, bumping into Cas as he comes to a halt as well. The rest of the party fills in around them and Dean finds himself pressed up against Cas, their noses almost touching and the rest of them definitely touching as bodies press in around them. Cas’ hand is gripping Dean’s shoulder and it feels so hot that it might sear a handprint straight into Dean’s skin. He says something into Dean’s ear and pulls back to grin, and Dean can’t hear him, but then Cas is turning around and putting Dean’s hands on his hips and now they’re dancing? They’re dancing, and it’s sweaty and hot and fucking _good_ in the weirdest, most intimate way.

Dean’s hand slips a little bit and suddenly he’s touching Cas’ bare stomach, and he wonders if that’s okay, and he leans in to ask Cas if that’s okay, and that’s when Cas grinds back on him and suddenly his dick is very interested in the conversation. Holy shit is Cas good at this, whatever this is, the writhing and pulsing and general mating rituals of the red-blooded American male. Dean’s hand is still up Cas’ shirt, feeling the rounded muscle under soft skin, while his other hand holds tight to Cas’ hip as if it is the only thing keeping him standing, which who knows, maybe it is.

They dance until all of the alcohol hits Dean in full and he feels like there are ocean waves crashing behind his eyes. He mumbles into Cas’ ear that he wants some water and Cas turns around, concerned, and props him up as they maneuver out of the crowd. Back in the kitchen, Cas sits him on a stool and pours him a glass of ice water from the fridge. Sam and Jess are long gone, probably catching up with one of the many groups that Dean can see spread across the patio outside.

“Are you doing okay?” Cas asks him, and is that his hand on Dean’s face? Dean leans into the cool, dry, palm, humming happily and feeling a sudden sense of peace.

“Cas, you’re my favorite,” he sighs. “My very favorite. Don’t tell Sam.” And, actually, “Or Gabe. Or Jo.”

“Dean, you’re drunk. I mean, me too, but you’re really drunk. Let’s go home.”

“But I’m having fun! I’m dancing! I love parties!”

“I know, Dean. I know.”

Dean’s not sure how they get back to Sam’s dorm, aside from a few flashes of the inside of a car that smells like tobacco and peppermint. He thinks he lays down at some point to rest his head in Castiel’s lap, but that would mean that his face has been in very close proximity with a very compelling part of Cas’ anatomy and nothing has come of it, so maybe that’s not actually real. Regardless, somehow Cas gets them back to that Spanish-style roof and the arching doorway and Dean is so grateful, so glad that Cas is so smart and responsible and caring. 

They’re stumbling up the stairs and down the hall and Dean is having trouble remembering which direction standing is supposed to go, and when he grabs for maybe the floor or maybe the wall he ends up with that cool, dry hand in his hand again and then an arm wraps around him and a nose is in his hair and he hears, whispered, “We have to be quiet,” over and over like a drunken prayer.

Cas unlocks Sam’s door and Dean tumbles over the threshold. He lands on Brady’s bed and feels something starchy beneath him, and when he looks down he sees the tan fabric of a trench coat. He wonders idly if Cas would be willing to repeat the show from earlier.

Cas, for his part, doesn’t seem to actually be that much less drunk than Dean. He has joined Dean on the bed and is laying back across it with his eyes closed, pressing the heels his palms into them as if that might fix them somehow.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Cas, do you want to go to sleep? You look sleepy.”

Cas groans, but nods his head anyway.

They muddle their way through a drunken bedtime routine, barely managing a bathroom visit for brushing teeth and squinting in the harsh fluorescent light. Cas finishes first and goes back to the room, leaving Dean to stare at himself in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are red from the alcohol, face flushed, lips swollen, hair a wild mess. For a second, he thinks, _This is what I’d look like if Cas and I—_ He shakes his head and stops himself mid-sentence.

When he gets back to the room, the lights are off and Cas is already in bed. Dean looks at the floor and then up at the bed. Suddenly, Cas’ eyes flash open, luminous in the dark. “Dean,” he whispers. “Dean, come here. Please?”

Dean can’t say no, hopeless to resist anything that this man asks of him, squeezes side by side with him in this college dorm extra-long twin (hey-oh! Just like Cas!), wondering if he’s breathing weird or too fast or too slow. How do people even breathe anyway? Should he hold his breath? Match it to Cas’? Both of those seem like extremely weird options and he just doesn’t–

“I can hear you thinking,” Cas mumbles. “Stop thinking. And turn over so we can fit better.”

Grumpy Cas giving orders makes Dean just about melt. He complies immediately, turning on his side, and then realizes that there is still not that much space and his only real option is to fully spoon Cas. So he does. He wiggles into place and slots his left arm under Cas’ neck, his right arm tucking around his waist to hold him securely in place. His nose ends up buried in Cas’ soft, fragrant hair, and despite the tickle he breathes deeply to savor it. Cas, for his part, is already asleep.


	7. 'tis the damn season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm staying at my parents' house/ and the road not taken looks real good now..."
> 
> One more after this!

Dean wakes up slowly, feeling like he’s floating on the calmest sea. He feels so warm, so secure, but can’t quite remember why. He breathes deeply and smells a floral shampoo and Dove soap. That makes sense, because he’s definitely spooning someone. What happened last night? He tries to remember through the haze of alcohol and late night eyes what exactly he did. He was drunk, and then Cas—

Oh.

Dean opens his eyes to confirm his suspicions. Indeed, he and Cas are still squeezed into Brady’s twin bed, locked into a tight spooning position. His arm is wrapped around Cas’ waist and tucked under his ribs, and Cas’ legs are tangled in Dean’s. Cas is letting out light snores and Dean briefly has the thought that it’s kind of cute. Like, in the way that you think your best friend is cute because you’re best friends.

Apparently best friends who cuddle, which is an interesting development. As carefully as possible, Dean unhooks himself from Cas and slides out of the bed. He notices immediately that Sam’s bed is empty and smiles to himself. Sammy’s got the _moves_. Dean couldn’t be prouder.

Cas must have plugged Dean’s phone in by the door, since Dean is quite confident that he did not have the mental presence to do so on his own when they got back last night. He grabs it and scrolls through his texts. One from Gabe, asking how the trip is going. A couple from various friends who are still on campus, including Aaron, wondering if he’s around. And then, from Sam:

Today, 1:13 AM:

_dude where u_

_where ar u_

_are_

_where are u_

_oh cas texted me_

Today, 1:47 AM:

_we’re coming back put on clothes_

_shit ur cuddling!!! Did u know that!!!!!!!!!!!_

_ok i think u might see this message in the morning but I’m going to Jess’s room to sleep because she’s nice and has a queen bed and I like her. Don’t tell anyone and I won’t tell anyone about u and cas cuddling like two little cuddly bears_

Today, 2:36 AM:

_my god am drunk may nt be awark before u leave sorry luv u bitch xoxo_

_we kissed :) :) :)_

Dean had somehow forgotten that Sam turns into a weird species of sorority girl when he gets drunk. He hopes that at the very least, Sam will be too hungover to remember the cuddling when he wakes up. Though, unfortunately, these texts will be a fairly damning reminder.

“Dean?” comes a grumbly, rumbly voice from behind him. He turns. Cas is sitting up, scrubbing at his face, and stretching out his neck. Against his will, Dean once again thinks, _Cute._

“Morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank an entire liquor store.”

“Almost, champ.”

Castiel blinks, hard. “Are you not hungover? Are you not wildly and terribly hungover?”

“Hasn’t hit yet. I think I’m maybe still a little drunk. Although, truth be told, it’s wearing off fast if my stomach is any indication.”

“Can’t wait to drive six hours in the bright, bright sun.”

“I think I need to puke.”

Dean is sitting with Jo on the Pitzer Mounds when he first brings it up. It’s just about a week after Fall Break, and Dean has spent the last few days diving back into all of the homework that he ignored while he and Cas were in the Bay. After arriving back in Claremont, Dean had finally received a text from Sam confirming that yes, he was alive, and yes, he and Jess were a thing now. Sam also noted that yes, he was planning to cut alcohol out of his life, maybe forever. Dean agreed.

Luckily, a full week later, Dean is feeling much more generous towards the bottle and is even looking forward to a cocktail and movie night later this evening. He and Jo are pregaming with dinner, currently sitting under a tree that is connected to its neighbor by a slackline. One grassy Mound over is a large group passing around a very obvious joint. Someone has brought a tiny Chihuahua and Dean has been entertaining Jo with impersonations of the dog when he suddenly has a thought.

“Jo,” he says, sitting up. “Do you think Cas likes me?”

Jo gives him a look. “The two of you are basically joined at the hip these days. Of course he likes you.”

“But do you think he likes me, like, in a liking way?”

Jo’s brow furrows and she cocks her head. She takes Dean in with an appraising look, and a question seems to flash behind her eyes and disappear again in an instant. “You mean romantically?” she asks carefully.

“Yeah, like, is he even into that, or…?”

“Dean, are you asking me if Cas is gay?”

Dean blushes and drops his gaze to the grass. “No. Sorry. It was a dumb question. And it’s none of my beeswax. I just – well, we just – we had a moment. Or, he had a moment. In Palo Alto. And it made me wonder. About him.”

Jo nods and looks away, back over to the tiny Chihuahua, which is now performing tricks for its owner to the delight of her friends. For a moment, she’s silent.

“Dean,” she says finally, looking at Dean with a gravity that Dean isn’t sure he has ever seen before, “you know that you can tell me anything, right? I care about you. And I’ll always care about you.”

“Dude, you’re being weird.”

“I mean it! And I think it’s an important preface to what I want to ask you.” Jo nudges him. “Which is whether you might potentially like Castiel, in a liking way, romantically.”

Dean feels his heartbeat speed up. “I’m straight,” he says. Jo seems unconvinced. “No really,” he tries again. “I like women.”

“Dean, have you ever heard the term ‘bisexual?’ It means that you can like women and also maybe still have a crush on Castiel.”

“That wasn’t my question,” says Dean, staring down at the grass and picking at the blades closest to him. “I know I’m straight. I’m just wondering about Cas.”

Jo sighs. “Not that it’s either of our business, but Castiel went through a pretty nasty breakup last year. With a guy. Someone else with a weird name too, though I honestly don’t remember it right now. Pomona kid, politics major. From what I’ve heard, he was a nasty piece of work. That was honestly why Cas and I started hanging out – he really didn’t have anyone else. Except Charlie, but I think she was abroad last spring or something.”

Dean nods, trying to keep a sympathetic expression, but for some reason all he can focus on is that Cas is into dudes. “And you really don’t see it?” he asks. “Cas being into me?”

Jo gives him a sidelong glance. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have a conclusive update, but don’t hold your breath.”

The time between Fall Break and Thanksgiving always passes in a blur, and this year is no exception. This time around, however, instead of spending every free second sweating in the gym or getting pelted with rain on the field, Dean actually finds himself having fun. He and Cas visit the Nixon Presidential Library about an hour away, because Cas is a politics nerd and they can. Gabe joins them for a trip to Salvation Mountain, and they all stand around looking at the painted scenes for about three minutes before Dean whispers to Cas, “Is this it?” and they decide to go get boba instead.

He’s even enjoying his job, working in the bike shop with Jo and hanging out with Ellen for a few hours every week. She’s been acting like a mother to him ever since she found out what happened to his. A couple of days before Halloween, she gives him a haircut while he’s on the clock for one of his shifts. A week after that, a care package shows up in the mailroom addressed to Dean that contains new socks, underwear, a comb, and the softest towels he’s ever felt. There’s no return address, but the whiffs of perfume he catches off the package are as obvious as a signature. He tries to thank Ellen and she stubbornly insists that she had nothing to do with it.

Mostly, though, the last few weeks have been filled with Not Talking About It. Not with Sam, not with Cas, not with Jo, and certainly not with Gabriel. No, Dean is keeping a tight lid on whatever happened in Palo Alto. Just because he thinks about it almost every day doesn’t mean that he has to _talk_ about it. And so what if he’s seeing Aaron more than usual, and sometimes imagining what Aaron would be like if he had blue eyes and a deep, gravelly voice.

This ends abruptly sometime in early November when Aaron lets him know, extremely politely, that he has met someone.

“I like you a lot as a friend, Dean,” he says, maintaining a calm and steady eye contact in the 2:00 AM light. “But I’ve met my breakfast guy. And I want to see if I can make it work. I hope you understand and I hope we can still hang out, maybe in the daytime even.”

Dean nods, smiles, hugs Aaron, wonders what exactly his outlet is going to be now for the rapidly increasing fantasies about dark stubble and cool, dry palms and stripteases starting with a trench coat.

Despite having to navigate these extreme challenges, before he knows it, Dean is packing up for the drive home to Kansas for Thanksgiving. He’s planning to spend a whole week back home, even though Sammy is only flying in for a couple of days, and spend some time seeing the friends who are like family around Lawrence. He knows that he’ll be back for winter break, but after that, he might end up anywhere. He wants to take advantage of this time while he has it.

And that’s a whole other spiral, isn’t it, the fact that he finally has these great friends he loves and in a few months, they’ll all be graduating and moving on. Cas has grand plans to go to grad school in LA, become a licensed social worker, and get a job for the county helping kids. Jo is planning to move to New York, where she already has a cushy consulting gig lined up, so she can make big money and help her mom retire early. Gabriel is moving abroad, planning to teach English in Japan for a few years and then see where the wind takes him next.

And Dean? Well, Dean has a big pile of nothing waiting for him at the other end of the graduation stage. He’s hoping that he can tap the extensive Claremont McKenna alum network to somehow get employed, but his best guess right now is that he’ll be working in Bobby’s garage at least through the summer.

Thankfully, the garage still remains a sight for sore eyes as he rounds the last bend off a dusty road in Lawrence and pulls into the asphalt lot in front of the garage. He sits for a moment after he turns the engine off, appreciating the silence and motionlessness for the first time in well over twelve hours. He had stopped for a night in Denver, camped out in his car for the night, and is looking forward to sleeping in his own real bed tonight.

Bobby is out picking up a parts delivery in town, but Dean stops in the shop anyway to say hi to all of his favorites. He chats for a couple minutes with Rufus, waves to Garth, and high-fives Ash as he passes. Once he has made the rounds, he heads for the back of the property and the trim, stout 3-bed 2-bath that he will forever think of as home.

Not much has changed since the last time Dean was here in August. He drops his bags on the dusty, squashy chintz couch and turns on a porcelain lamp on the side table. In the kitchen, he grabs a beer out of the yellowing fridge and then plops into the worn leather recliner, reaching for the remote before sinking fully in. He must fall asleep watching TV, because before he knows it, he is waking up to the sound of the door creaking open and Bobby calling from the entryway, “Dean, you home?”

Dean scrambles out of the recliner, knocking his empty beer bottle to the ground, and takes three big strides to get to Bobby. “Let me get those, Bobby,” he says, taking the heavily loaded grocery bags out of Bobby’s arms and carrying them to the kitchen. He knows that Bobby isn’t “old” and would never dare to say anything to that effect, but he still has the instinct to give back whenever he can to this man who has become his father.

“Boy, let me get a good look at you,” Bobby leans back and squints. “You look good, Dean. Like you’ve finally filled out a bit. And like you’ve finally stop running from some demons.”

Bobby was never the biggest fan of John Winchester’s soccer plans for his son. From the early days when John would make Dean put in extra practice hours in the freezing dark days of Kansas winters to the final seasons of high school when John would show up, drunk and rambling, to harass opponents and their coaches, Bobby had never quite approved. He was supportive, sure, but Dean could tell that there was a slight bit of relief in his voice when Dean had called last spring to announce his retirement.

“Yes, I’ve put my demon-escaping days behind me,” Dean jokes, beginning to put the groceries away in the narrow cabinets.

“Well what are you doing instead? How’s school? How come you don’t have time to call the man who raised you and let him know you’re safe?”  
“Sorry, Bobby. I’ve been too busy being young and dumb.”

Bobby rolls his eyes fondly. “Alright, ya idjit. Can’t say I missed this disrespect.”

Dean knows that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Once Dean has Bobby caught up on his new friend group, his old teammates, his current classes, and his future plans, it’s already time for dinner. Bobby begins to chop vegetables for chili and Dean helps, the familiar steps soothing to him after years of helping Bobby with this when they were taking care of Sam after John died.

Halfway through dinner, Bobby gets a call that his towing services are needed in town. He gives Dean an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to do this to you, son,” he says, shrugging on his jacket. “On your first night back and everything. Well, either way, take a look in the fridge. It was supposed to be a surprise welcome-home gift.”

The second the door Is closed, Dean all but sprints to the fridge. Just as he had hoped, hidden in a small pink box in the back is a thick slice of coconut cream pie from the local diner. Nothing in this world has ever been so good to him as the diner is, the place where he and Sam would go to do homework and scarf down burgers and sample every single kind of pie known to man.

Dean grabs a fork, heaves his duffel and backpack over his shoulders, and takes the pink box with him upstairs to the bedroom he has come to know as his. When he was growing up, Bobby always kept the room available in case Mary had the late shift at the hospital and John took a late shift at the bar, but it still just felt like Bobby’s spare room in Dean’s head. When his parents died, though, there was no question in Dean’s mind where he and Sam were going to live.

Dean isn’t much of a decorator, so his room remains simply appointed. Opposite the door, under the huge window, a dark oak bedframe holds a memory foam mattress with forest-green sheets and a quilt that Mary had made for him while she was going through chemo. Two squat nightstands sit on either side of the bed. The closets take up one side of the room, while the other opens into the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that Dean shares with Sam. In what used to be the only empty corner, next to the door, Dean added a comfy armchair he found in a thrift store the day he found out he got the scholarship to CMC.

He throws himself onto the bed and sets the pie on the nightstand. Sinking into the mattress, he lets out a sigh. Memory foam. It remembers him.

As it always does when he experiences more than ten seconds of silence, his mind jumpstarts another panic spiral about Cas. He actually hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him since they arrived back home to Claremont and went their separate ways back to their dorm rooms. Dean has no idea what real Cas did that night, but Fantasy Cas spent a long time with Dean in the shower and then back in his bed, panting and writhing and finishing off his striptease in a hundred different ways.

And that’s the fun version of the spiral. More often than not, though, Dean finds himself in a much deeper panic wondering yet again if Cas is into him. And since he talked to Jo, from time to time he also wonders if he is into Cas. And of course, more broadly, if that might mean that his father is rolling in his grave somewhere because his oldest son is gay. Or, according to Jo, perhaps bi.

It’s not like there isn’t some material to work with there. Aside from Cas, there’s Aaron, and before Aaron was that boy whose name Dean never learned, who dressed like Doctor Sexy from Dean’s secret favorite TV show on Halloween of their freshman year and then tied Dean to his bed and gave him the best blowjob he’d ever had.

In between, of course, were the women – Rhonda Hurley in high school, who was the first to let Dean embrace any kind of feminine side when she convinced him to wear a pair of her satiny silk panties to third period calc. After, they had to leave school early to fuck in Dean’s car because he was too horny to wait. There had been numerous one night stands and flings, and then of course his on-again, off-again relationship with Lisa Braeden from sophomore spring to junior fall.

Being back here, though… there’s one person who’s hard not to remember. Leaning over, Dean grabs a picture frame off of the nightstand. One nightstand is dedicated to pictures of family – Mary and John with baby Sam and toddler Dean, Mary teaching Dean how to play piano, and Bobby proudly showing off Dean’s high school diploma at graduation while Dean smiles bashfully next to him. The other side has just one frame, and it’s the one that Dean is holding now.

Staring back at him is the one real best friend he ever had before college – besides Sam, of course. In the photo, they’re laughing at each other, completely candid, sweaty and glowing after winning the high school league championship. The first couple of years of college, they called each other once a week and were nearly inseparable when they were back home for breaks. But over the last year or two, they’ve fallen out of touch.

Dean pulls out his phone and hovers over the contact. Trying not to second guess it, he clicks the call icon. The phone only rings once before he hears that familiar Louisiana drawl.

“Well if it ain’t Dean Winchester,” says Benny, the warmth evident in his voice. “How the hell have you been? And where the hell have you been?”

“Benny! I can’t believe you picked up.”

“For you, brother? Always.”

They chat for a while, catching up on the last two years. Benny’s parents are still in Lawrence but planning a move back home to Louisiana in December, so this is pretty much Benny’s last time in Kansas. Dean’s glad he caught him.

“Anyway, any chance you’d want to meet up at the diner sometime this week? I’d sure love to see you and give you a proper apple pie send-off before you go.”

“I’d love to, Dean. You name the time and place. Aside from helping Mama with the cooking, I have next to nothing on the calendar.”

They hang up, agreeing that Dean will text Benny to schedule once he knows more about his plans with Sam and Bobby this week. Dean leans back into the pillows and sighs. He doesn’t know why he put that off for so long, doesn’t know why he hasn’t reached out to Benny for two full years when Benny has never been anything but good to him.

Except that he does. When he started thinking that maybe he didn’t want to play soccer anymore, it was too painful to spend time with someone who knew him down to his core and was unfailing in his stability. He needed to be around people who would embrace whatever flights of fancy he took, encourage chaotic turns, and not care about the consequences. He knew that Benny wouldn’t judge him, since that wasn’t Benny’s style, but he also knew exactly what Benny would say and he was scared to hear it.

Of course, the whole thing ended up being irrelevant when he took a bad fall against Chapman and ripped through his ACL. A surgery and several months later, the choice to quit soccer had been made for him and he still had absolutely no regrets. It wasn’t like he was planning to go professional or anything, so all it really did was decrease the stockpile of cash that John’s parents had left for Sam and Dean when they died.

Not to mention that at some point things with Benny became just a little bit too complicated. It was easier to stop talking, easier to cut him out, than to navigate and understand exactly what roles they played in each other’s lives. Benny had met Andrea and Dean had been starting to hook up with Lisa, and every phone call had started to get stiffer with longer silences until one day Dean just stopped answering.

Dean mulls this over as he pulls his laptop out of his backpack and opens up a Netflix window, then grabs the pie off of the nightstand. Leaning back into the pillows, he takes a big bite of coconut cream and lets the soothing sounds of Doctor Sexy wash over him. He breathes deeply and thinks to himself that there truly is no place like home.

Sam arrives home like a hurricane, as always. His flight is supposed to get in on Monday evening, since he only had one midterm to take on Monday morning, but it ends up getting delayed and Bobby finally gets him from the airport around 6:00 AM on Tuesday morning. Dean is fast asleep upstairs when he hears the door slam open and the thud of Sam dropping what sounds like six suitcases at once. Then the stomping up the stairs, since Sam is too gigantic to move across the floor quietly, and another dull thud as he falls into his bed. By the time Sam’s done showering, Dean is fully awake and staring at the ceiling.

Well, he thinks, if he doesn’t get to sleep then neither does Sam. “Sammy,” he yells, banging on the wall. “Up and at ‘em. We’re going for a drive.”

Sam lets out a groan loud enough to be heard through the walls. “Dean, I just got home and I’m tired,” he complains.

“I was tired too. So tired, in fact, that I was asleep. Come on, get up. We can get coffee, my treat. I’ll even get you one of those green juices from that hippie joint on Main.”

Sam’s head appears in Dean’s doorway as if summoned. “Really?” he asks excitedly. “Oh man, I was thinking about a Greenie Genie for the whole flight. Dean, you should really try one again. The flaxseed and spirulina are so good for you.”

As Sam chats excitedly about a variety of nuts and seeds that Dean will never learn, care about, or sample, Dean guides him towards the door and grabs both of their coats from the coatrack. They trudge through the rows of used cars behind the shop to the lot where Dean left the Impala and slide into the seats.

“How are things with Jess?” Dean asks, starting with a softball.

Sam fills the silence on the way to the café, telling Dean excitedly about the dates that he and Jess have gone on since Fall Break. Jess continues to sound perfect for him – she loves hiking, camping, reading, dogs, volunteering, and trying new vegetables. Apparently they go to the farmers market every weekend to pick up kale and oranges. Barf.

It isn’t until after Dean has finished half of his hot coffee, black, that Sam turns the question back. “So,” he begins. “How’s Castiel?”

Dean regards him suspiciously. “Doing as well as my many other friends.”

Sam sighs. “Come on, man. You don’t have to tell me anything gross, but it seemed like there was maybe something there that wasn’t just two bros chilling. You were cuddling. I saw.”

“I kind of hoped you wouldn’t remember the cuddling.”

“It was hard to forget.”

Dean sips his coffee and lets out a breath, keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead of him. “I don’t know, man. It’s weird and I don’t really get it.”

“Do you think maybe there’s some feelings there? I know you’re not gay. You’ve been clear about that. But I think you can be not-gay and still be into Cas.”

Dean makes a face. “Did you get Jo’s number somehow?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Look, I don’t know, man. He’s funny and interesting and weird as hell, and he’s been making my year a hell of a lot more fun than I was expecting. But I’m a little worried about him like, liking me. Because we have a good thing going with this friendship and I don’t want that to get messed up because he can’t keep it in his pants.”

Sam takes a loud slurp of his green juice. “Well,” he says with an air of self-righteousness, “sometimes the very best relationships arise out of strong and solid friendships. For example—”

“Don’t fucking say you and Jess.”

“—Jess and I are able to communicate better and more clearly because we had an established friendship first. Plus, we’re able to be honest with each other because we had already seen each other through so many experiences by the time we started dating.”

Dean rolls his eyes and goes back to drinking his coffee as Sam continues to list off the various benefits of dating a friend. Despite his annoyance, though, he still hears the tiny voice in the back of his head saying that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if there were some feelings there after all.

It’s mid-morning on Wednesday and Dean is sitting in a vinyl booth, wondering if this table has always felt so exposed. It’s not, really, tucked in a corner behind the bar, but there’s a direct eyeline to the door and out the window to the street. He checks his phone again, but still no new texts. The bell over the door chimes and he jumps, looking up, but it’s a mom with two kids instead of a six-foot Louisianan.

That’s why he’s so caught off-guard when, out of seemingly nowhere, Benny appears in front of him. “Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe,” he says, grinning, and throwing Dean a wink.

Dean grins back. “Benny! How are you?” He gets up to shake Benny’s hand and is surprised to be pulled into a full-on bear hug.

They slide into their seats in the booth and give their orders to Dean’s favorite waitress, Cathy, who takes their menus, brings back hot coffees and glasses of water, and mouths to Dean, “I’ll bring extra pie.” Then she’s gone and Dean is suddenly alone with Benny.

“So.”

“So,” Benny says, leaning back and stretching his arm out across the back of the vinyl booth. “How have you been? What’s going on? I have to assume that this recent contact is not coming out of nowhere.”

Dean gestures helplessly, not sure where to start.

Benny grins. “Dean, I know you too well for that. And because I know you and because I love you, I am one hundred percent sure that you would only call me if you were in crisis. And, to be clear, I don’t mind that – I’m here for you, brother. So what’s the crisis?”

Ah, this. This is what Dean knew would happen if he had tried to reach out during the whole soccer spiral and even over the last couple of months with Cas. He wasn’t ready for it then, but he thinks he might be now. “Um. I, um, have a friend.” He takes the biggest gulp of water he can.

Benny picks up his coffee mug and raises it in a salute. “Ah, you’re finally having your big gay panic. I was waiting for this.”

Dean chokes on his water and splutters, “What?”

Benny leans in and stares at Dean. His eye contact is intense, and though it is not as intense as Cas can be, there is still something similar about the energy of these blue eyes. “Dean, you sucked me off before you ever went down on a girl. We fucked in the back of my pickup before I went to home base with my own actual girlfriend. Who is now my fiancée, by the way, though not that you asked.”

Dean lets out a whimpered, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. That’s beside the point. I knew I was bi from the moment I laid eyes on you, and it took a few years to get over you. But I could never understand how you managed to justify to yourself that you were straight and then swallow down my cock in a McDonald’s parking lot just because I called you a good boy after a game.”

Dean would like to disappear now, fully, just cease to exist, turn into a ghost and never ever revisit this conversation. He squirms. For a moment, there’s just the sound of Benny quietly sipping his coffee.

“So,” Dean starts. “You, uh. You think I might be into dudes?”

Benny laughs. “Dean, if there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that yeah, you might be into dudes. So tell me about the lucky fella who’s inspiring this journey.”

“His name is Castiel. Well, Cas. I met him through a friend. There have been some, um, moments.”

“Have you given him a blowjob outside of a fast food establishment yet? Or am I special?”

Dean lets out a high pitched panic noise, but then sees Benny smirking. “You jackass,” he mutters, kicking Benny under the table. “I’m trying to have a crisis here.”

“You ever think about the fact that being into dudes might not be a bad thing? Maybe crisis isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s just neutral. Or even positive.”

Dean, in fact, has not thought about that. That is a wildly new angle for the son of John Winchester, who had strong feelings about homosexuality and made them known from the moment Dean was old enough to understand the slurs. He thinks for a moment. Okay, maybe not a crisis. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s a… good thing?

Maybe it’s a good thing that he has feelings for a man with a kind heart and beautiful eyes and cool, dry hands. Maybe it’s a good thing that he has feelings for a man who cares for him, who brings him coffee and takes away his dishes, who brings him home and tucks him in when he’s had too much to drink. Maybe the possibility that that man has feelings for him too is something to be excited about, to call home about, instead of burying deeply under six feet of repression.

Dean takes a deep breath and carefully tries again. “Benny, I think I’m in love with my best friend,” he says. “And I think my best friend is in love with me back.”

Benny grins. “Now that’s what we like to hear.”


	8. Ruin the Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have been so patient, but now it's finally time to ~ruin the friendship~.......

The final event of the fall semester, Mistletoe Rock, is a holiday-themed formal dress party with live music. It’s on the last weekend before finals prep begins, and it’s probably Dean’s favorite event of the whole year. They set up this huge tent-like thing and put up Christmas trees and outdoor space heaters, and what feels like the whole school turns out to belt Mariah Carey hits and all their favorite pop songs while also taking a final swing at hooking up with their classroom crushes before the year is out.

Dean has been back at school for about two weeks, and has only seen Cas once for a rushed movie night. Everyone is stressed with finals and thesis deadlines coming up, so it makes sense, but it makes Dean feel squirmy and stressed that he hasn’t yet been able to say anything to Cas about his Thanksgiving revelation.

But tonight. It’s Mistletoe. ‘Tis the damn season.

He’s at Jo’s for the pregame when Cas arrives with Charlie, of course wearing that damned trench coat with the same white button down and grey slacks from Palo Alto underneath. This time, Dean smiles. Cas looks _hot_.

“Castiel!” Jo squeals, pulling him into a hug and handing him a shot glass at the same time. “It’s tequila. Come on, get in the holiday spirit.”

Cas surveys the liquor and then, without a moment of hesitation, downs it with no chaser. Jo cheers and hands him another. “Okay, and now this one, Dean, you join too!”

Dean has been sipping on a foul concoction of whiskey and peppermint schnapps, so he is only too happy to take a tequila shot. Jo carefully pours some salt in his hand and then hands out lime wedges all around, and Dean makes direct eye contact with Cas and winks before licking the salt, throwing back the shot, and biting down on the lime. Cas looks perplexed.

Gabriel arrives with a bottle of vodka and some orange juice, and then Meg with some Mangoritas, and then Anna who’s just happy to be there. The room is warm and cozy and full of light and sound, with Jo blasting her Senior Year playlist in the background. Dean sits on the bed and looks around the room and thinks about how damn lucky he is, how wonderful it is to see his soccer best friend and his work best friend and his regular best friend all in one room, all here because they love each other and they love him and that is so fucking beautiful and Dean is NOT going to cry.

Dean finishes his drink and he’s not sure who suggests the body shots but he is sure that that’s a great fucking idea and he has his shirt off before anyone else can even react. Jo cackles and pushes him onto the bed, pours tequila in his belly button until it immediately overflows and soaks her duvet. Gabe is the one who sucks it up, literally, swirling his tongue around on Dean’s skin and moaning pornographically until Dean rolls his eyes and shoves him off.

“Who’s next?” he asks boldly, folding an elbow behind his head to show off the six-pack he still has from soccer. “Ladies? Or… Castiel?”

“Castiel,” Meg and Charlie agree, looking at each other and then beginning to chant. “Cas-ti-el! Cas-ti-el!”

Cas rolls his eyes and says, “Fine, but if we’re going to do this then we’re doing it right.” He shakes out some salt next to Dean’s belly button and sticks a lime wedge between Dean’s teeth. “Hold that.”

Jo cheers and pours the tequila, again bathing her sheets in it. Cas takes a breath, licks the salt, and holy shit even those two seconds of Cas’ tongue on Dean’s skin send a jolt of electricity through him and he doesn’t even have time to react before Cas is sucking the tequila down and Dean is maybe going to die from this? But damn, what a way to go.

And then Cas leans in for the lime and before Dean knows what he’s doing, he spits the lime out and pulls Cas’ head down with both hands and finally, finally feel’s Cas’ mouth against his. And then in rapid succession, feels Cas’ tongue against his mouth and then Cas’ tongue against his tongue and then they’re full-on making out in front of a room full of their friends. Dean pulls Cas in deeper, wraps an arm around his back, feels Cas’ fingers thread through his hair, other hand on Dean’s bare waist, and Jesus Christ that should not be so hot. Somewhere, vaguely, Dean thinks he can hear Jo cheering.

Which brings him back into himself and he sits up, arm still slung around the back of Cas’ neck, bottom half soaked in tequila, and leans against his chest as he smiles over at their friends, happy and drunk. “Finally,” Gabe whistles. “Y’all have been holding onto that one for too long.”

Dean pulls back and looks at Cas, sees that Cas is smiling back at him with his whole face, adorable crow’s feet and a perfect dimple and all. “I’d say it’s time to go dancing, wouldn’t you?”

They only make it for about an hour at Mistletoe, dancing as hard as they can and scream-singing along to the lyrics they know. Dean holds back from kissing Cas again, holds back from touching him at all really, just soaking in the energy of his last Mistletoe Rock.

And then it’s one in the morning and the band stops to tell them that this is the last song before they’ll all be sent out into the world, they don’t have to go home but they can’t stay here. Of course, the last song starts with a familiar, “I… don’t want a lot for Christmas. There is just one thing I need.”

Dean and Gabriel look at each other, grin, because this is their damn song and they’re sure not going to waste it. Moving into the highest range they muster, they belt out an off-key version of “All I Want for Christmas is You” and grab Cas and Jo by the hands, pull them into a frenetic and off-beat dance circle. Meg and Charlie have already gone, left the party together a few minutes after arriving, and Dean can’t wait to hear about it tomorrow. When the song finishes Dean is panting, beaming, holding Cas’ hand on one side and Jo’s on the other, and he can’t stop laughing.

And then Cas leans in and murmurs in his ear, “It looks like the party is ending, and I think that maybe now would be a good opportunity for me to see your room for the first time.”

Jo is in his other ear, reiterating, “Dean, you gotta show Castiel your room. Do you know that he hasn’t seen it? You need to go, show him, he needs to see it.”

Dean nods because it’s true and they should say it, and truthfully it’s the best idea that anyone has had in a long long while. He lets go of Jo’s hand but holds on tight to Cas.

He can’t stop smiling as they walk, even though Cas is asking him some surprisingly complicated questions about his thesis plans, and then they’re at Dean’s dorm room and he fumbles with unlocking the door and relocking it behind them and then finally, finally, he shuts Cas up the way he’s been dying to all night.

They fall onto the bed together and Cas rolls them over so that he’s on top, lightly presses one hand to Dean’s neck and pulls back on Dean’s hair with the other while they kiss and Dean straight-up sees God.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles over and over like a prayer as Cas makes his way lazily down to Dean’s neck, sucks in bruising hickeys that he knows his friends will make fun of tomorrow, but he is definitely not thinking about that now.

“Take this off,” Cas huffs in his ear, tugging on his formal-wear shirt. “And these too.” Cas himself leans back and takes his trench coat off sleeve by sleeve, throws it somewhere in the corner, and Dean has to stop everything he’s doing to watch his strip tease fantasy come to life. Cas unbuttons his shirt astonishingly quickly, revealing the strong muscles and soft skin that have filled Dean’s thoughts for weeks now, and then reaches down to unzip his slacks. This time, instead of stopping at his boxers, he pulls those off too, and suddenly Cas is naked and on top of him and looking down at him hungrily.

“I thought I told you to take those off?” he says, fingering the edge of Dean’s waistband. “Or do you want me to do it for you?”

God, yes, Dean does want that, and he nods and bites his lip and bats his fucking eyelashes so that Cas will get the message. Cas cups his jawline with one hand and presses Dean’s mouth open with his thumb, and then slowly leans back in to suck a hickey into the hollow of Dean’s collarbone.

Dean feels Cas’ hands, those fucking _hands_ , slowly unbuttoning his shirt and then sliding along the inside of it down his arms to pull it off. Dean’s skin is so fucking hot from the alcohol and the dancing and the being wildly turned on, and Cas’ hands raise goosebumps everywhere they touch, sending shivers down Dean’s whole body.

He lifts his torso for Cas to pull his shirt all the way off and looks down to see Cas trailing kisses down his abdomen, and then – oh, this motherfucker. Cas looks Dean in the eye and drags his teeth down, down to the edge of Dean’s waistband, and Dean gulps. “May I?” Cas whispers. Dean nods.

Cas unbuttons his pants so fucking slowly, so slowly that Dean wants to take over for him, and then unzips his fly tooth by agonizing tooth. He crawls back up and covers Dean’s mouth in a bruising kiss while pulling Dean’s hips up into his, just long enough to work Dean’s pants and underwear down to his knees. Dean uses one hand to pull them off the rest of the way and drop them over the side of the bed, and then he and Cas are both naked and it feels like everywhere they touch is searing the shape of Cas into Dean’s skin. Dean feels like he might cum at any second, but he tries to hold on, tries to forget that he’s been fantasizing about this very moment for months.

Dean ruts up against Cas and they slide against each other, sweaty and hot and panting. “Cas,” he groans, closing his eyes tightly as Cas begins a punishing pace, building the friction between them. And then – holy shit – he feels Cas wrap a loose hand around their dicks, feels that cool dry palm in the one place he hasn’t felt it yet, and can’t help but start pushing his own hips into it as well. He squeezes his eyes shut, so fucking close, and then hears Cas’ gravelly voice in his ear again, telling him to cum, telling him that he’s so good, such a good boy for him, and suddenly he can’t hold on a second longer.

Afterwards, he feels Cas get up and return with a soft, damp washcloth, cleaning them both up before pulling a blanket up and over them. He burrows into the soft warmth of Cas’ neck and lets Cas hold him like a baby. He’ll never admit it in the light of day, but this is absolutely the best part of the whole night. Cas presses a soft kiss into his forehead and says his name, but he’s so sleepy, doesn’t want to open his eyes.

“Dean,” Cas says again. “Please, it’s important.”

Dean sighs and rolls over far enough to be able to look Cas in those baby blue black holes. “What? I’m trying to fall asleep after getting laid by this extremely hot guy I know.”

Cas smiles and rubs a thumb gently over his cheek. “Me too. I just… I wanted to tell you something.”

“I’m listening.”

“I love you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean smiles. “I know.”

Epilogue: Share Your Address

_And here is what Dean doesn’t know:_

_He doesn’t know that in a few months, Cas will get into an MPH program at UCLA and announce it to Dean with a question in his eyes. He doesn’t know that his answer to that question will be yes, absolutely, anything for you, but he’ll play it cool and start slowly bringing up how Los Angeles is the only city that makes sense for him really. Or that he’ll work hard to get a job offer on the day he graduates college and move into a studio only a few blocks away from where Cas and Charlie have found a sweet two-bedroom with a balcony facing the coast.._

_He doesn’t know that they will celebrate their victories together, mourn their losses together, and always turn to each other’s arms first. That the road ahead has twists and turns that Dean could not even imagine, but Cas will always be up for the drive._

_He doesn’t know that someday they’ll move in together and build a life worth sharing, complete with a funny-looking dog and comfy chairs on the patio and a drawer in one of the nightstands where they hide their sex toys._

_He doesn’t know that years down the road he’ll still feel fiercely defensive of Cas and start fights with anyone who threatens him. And that, of course, Cas doesn’t actually need defending and will finish the fights himself._

_He doesn’t know that Cas will always bring him coffee and take his plate away after breakfast, and that he’ll always feel safest in Cas’ arms. He doesn’t know that they’ll actually never stay for the end of a party ever again, become notorious for leaving early and going to bed together because alone together is better than surrounded by everyone else in the whole world._

_He doesn’t know about the unfathomable joy that lies ahead – movie nights with Cas and Charlie, vacations with Sam and Jess, picnics with new friends and phone calls with old friends as he grows into his relationship and himself, becoming prouder each day of the person he is._

_Mostly, he doesn’t know that someday he will look back on this night as the greatest night of his life. He doesn’t know that he’ll remember the pain and panic fondly, talk about those stressful days at dinner parties and happy hours and game nights, with one hand on Cas’ knee and a secret wink every time he finishes the story, “And obviously, it turned out pretty well.”_

_In this moment, lying in Castiel’s arms in a dorm room bed, Dean doesn’t even know that this is the first day of the rest of his life._


End file.
